Death
by Ripper101
Summary: Fifth and FINAL sequel to the 'Bond of...' series. To be read after 'Universally Accepted Fact'. Slash. One last, short look at those death leaves behind.
1. Crumble

Disclaimer: I do not own the idea of the 'Labyrinth' or the characters and ideas taken from that work. This is a purely fictional work that does not make any money in the least, for which I am left very unsatisfied and poor.

Pairing: Jareth/Toby, as usual. But the pairing is not important. Both hetero and homo in this one.

Author's Note: I couldn't resist. It just needed this epilogue. As you might be able to tell, this is an end for the two main characters from my 'Bond of...' series that I have come to know and love. It's harder to write this in the character that I created, so it might take the rest of the week to post the rest.

* * *

Walking out of his bedchamber had never been as hard before. He didn't want to leave and yet he couldn't bear to stay. The walls pressed down on him, silent and eerie as never before. The curtains were drawn, but they were no longer needed now. The silver and blue furnishings could go back to silver and green, the colours before Toby had entered his life. 

But he had to leave. And he did. The medallion around his neck had never felt so heavy before.

Arradine was asleep, her head cushioned on Aidan's shoulder. Ereditha was reading across from them, her blond hair flowing softly into her eyes. The book dropped from her fingers as her father walked slowly into the room.

Like a theatre play, Jareth opened his mouth to tell them. And that was when it hit him. Toby wasn't just resting; he was dead. That eerie silence was loneliness of the most extreme kind. The body was lying in the bed where Arradine and Ereditha had been birthed, where Aidan had been conceived, where so much love and sorrow had played between them. The wood sang with their sweat and passion and the pillows were saturated with the soft words they had spoken.

Like a movie, Aidan had barely struggled to his feet before his father hit the ground in a dead faint.

"Oh God, no," Arradine muttered thickly, pushing her loosened hair from her face. Aidan had dropped to pick Jareth up from the floor, Ereditha having strode into the bedchamber to see the news with her own eyes. "Ereditha, is it true?"

"It's true, Arra." The younger woman came out and shut the door reverently. "I-I think he's actually been- been gone a while. Father must have been in shock."

"Tell one of the goblins to get Lorelei, will you?" Aidan instructed tersely, "Red, there should be brandy in that cupboard there. Get me some."

His dad was dead. There was nothing he could do; there was nothing he would do. Right now, the most important being was his father. The prince cradled the inert body closer, trying to fuse strength and warmth into it by sheer presence. He could only imagine the agony that the Goblin King would endure when reality sank through. And they had been so in love!

"Here." Ereditha handed him the brandy.

Aidan nodded and gestured to her to help. "Hold him upright. I'll try to get some of it down his throat."

"Will it not be kinder to let him rest," Arradine asked suddenly.

Activity stopped.

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to stare at her. So different, the both of them, with two different shades and two different characters.

Arradine pointed to their father. "He has been with Dad for months now, watching him die. I don't presume to be an expert, but if I lost Zaraith…" she shrugged expressively. "I feel it would be kinder to let him stay as he is. Let him rest. He will need it."


	2. The Family

Author's Note: I know it hurts. But it will be for the best. This needed to be ended. Andit won't be so bad, I promise.

* * *

"Everything hurts." Perhaps talking to a dead man was the single most ridiculous thing Jareth had done, but he couldn't really bring himself to believe that Toby wouldn't answer him. "I wish you were here."

Nothing answered. Not Toby; not anyone else. Nothing. Jareth sighed and fidgeted with the ring on his left ring finger. Its companion was sitting on the table beside his bed, which he had yet to even look at let alone sleep on. He couldn't even enter his room without feeling as if the walls were closing in on him.

"Arradine is doing well," he said instead, looking out over 'their' lake, "Anamika keeps asking for you. She doesn't understand, you see. She wants her Grandpa. Arradine tells her that you had to go away somewhere. But then she wants to know when you are to return." He laughed a little, feeling his breath hitch with the sound. "You were just like her, my elf, just as annoying."

The lake shimmered in the cold spring, nature struggling to throw off the frost of the enforced cold and come back to life. Jareth supposed he should do something about it. After all, it was his fault the world was like this. He fingered the medallion around his neck and slid his finger up and down the thin edges.

"Aidan is much as we expected," he continued, sighing, "He hasn't stopped to think since you… since it happened. The arrangements, the announcements, and the records- I don't have to lift a finger. For the best, I suppose. But you needn't worry about Aidan; Armand is here. I know how you feel about Armand, but he is good for him. I spoke with him, demanded that he make sure my son is taken care of. And speaking of Armand, I need your help."

The Goblin King was not in the habit of asking for help. He hated asking for help. If he had his way, he would never ask for help at all. It was against his nature to admit that he couldn't do something perfectly well on his own initiative. But this stretched beyond what he could endure and he shifted uncomfortably as he thought it over.

"Ereditha, my elf. How am I supposed to stand that?"

He could almost hear Toby asking what the hell he was talking about, looking panicked. _'Has something happened to Red? Is she alright? Is she hurt?'_

"She is not hurt," he soothed, making gentling gestures with his hands even though he knew full well that there was no one to make the gestures to, "Ereditha is coping far better than either of them. She cries when she needs to and is strong when she needs to be. Better than Arradine, who can barely speak your name. I expected it, however. You raised her. She always protected you fiercely when she could. And this time she couldn't. So she is grief-stricken. And Aidan has yet to feel anything at all. But Ereditha is balanced."

'_Then what's the problem? You want her to be a mess?'_

"I can't cope, Toby. How am I supposed to bear this?" Jareth felt his voice break again, much to his horror. "She reminds me so much of you: a small, petite, slender, impetuous fire-blond. I always thought that if you had had the chance to grow up without all the stupidity with- with Archer and the war and my fears, you would have been just like Ereditha. So full of life and joy. A silly thing to say because you're dead now. You couldn't be alive even if you wanted to be."

Jareth growled to himself and got quickly to his feet. His legs were cramping, sitting in one spot so long. All the same, his body moved with all the precise slickness it always had. Age didn't touch the fae like that. Perhaps the lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth were a little deeper, but apart from that he hadn't changed. Still lithe, still straight-limbed.

But not strong. His little episode by the lake was testament of that. Talking to no one in a place that reminded him of his dead lover? Jareth despised clichés. So he went away, far away, to find his feet taking him automatically to the forests with the graves of kings passed. It had not been where he intended to go.

He dug in his heels and sulked for a minute, angry with himself because he had no one else to be angry with.

Death was not something he could prevent. Toby had had to die sometime. He had been prepared for that for fifty years now. And they had been married for a hundred and twenty-seven years. That was a long time. It should have been enough. It should be easy to remember that they had enjoyed most of those years and that this bond continued even past death.

But death was death.

The Goblin King wasn't comforted by the thought that Toby might still be a part of him. Because that part, usually so alive and constant, was now silent and still. There was no sense of anything from that quarter.

That in itself made him want to lash out.

'Stop being an idiot. There's bound to be an after-life, right? I'll see you there pretty soon. And then that will be forever.'

It's only forever, not long at all. Bah! That song had been a lie. A useless, gullible lie he had fed himself to that he wouldn't have to face the thought of mortality. What good had any of it done him!

"Your Majesty?"

A quiet, soft voice behind him. Jareth shut his eyes for a moment and winced in annoyance. But by the time he had turned, his face was set in a neutrally enquiring expression. Cool, composed and showing not one shred of what he felt. "Yes?"

Zaraith looked him up and down and then looked past the half-goblin's shoulder to the forest that loomed darkly ahead. "Am I interrupting you on your way to somewhere?"

Those green eyes said nothing. So Jareth sifted through every nuance of the draconite's words. "No," he decided, "I was only walking." He glanced back to the forests. "It seems my unconscious was nudging my intentions."

"May I accompany you?" Zaraith asked politely.

Jareth stiffened, but nodded curtly and gestured to the larger male to join him. Without another word they continued the short journey. Slipping through the trees over the grass and moss, being careful of the stones that had once marked graves and now were no use to any living person. Wandering vaguely to the south and there it was.

Zaraith was aware of that swirling eddy of despair that wafted around the Goblin King. It worried him just a little, to smell fear and anger and helplessness in such large amounts. Without thought he took a gentle hold of an elbow.

Jareth almost snatched his arm away in shock.

"I cannot see," Zaraith reminded him lightly, "The trees are too close together for me to judge distances properly. I would be grateful for a little help here."

The Goblin King grunted but took a little more care now that he was tagging someone else along with him.

"Asking for help is not something to be ashamed of, you know."

Jareth dropped his arm instantly, glowering at him even though his eyes immediately returned to the bare patch of freshly dug earth. "I wondered what your agenda was."

Zaraith shook his blond head and fixed forest green eyes sternly on the fae walking beside him. In spite of no actual sight and his averted eyes, he didn't seem to have any trouble walking in the forest, closely set trees or not. "No one thinks less of you for grieving, Your Majesty."

"My Lord," Jareth snapped rudely, "Let it be. I am not having this discussion."

"Your mate died."

"Yes. It happened. I mourn his loss but that is life."

"Just as it was the first time?"

That was moving it beyond what Jareth was prepared to endure. But even there, it was hopeless. He held tightly to his temper, not daring to find out what would happen to the Underground if he unleashed his emotions on it. His spirit was shrieking for release so harshly that he could not be responsible for what he did if he gave it control. But to even compare Toby with his father was unthinkable.

"It was not the same, I know. But you loved both. And you watched them both die."

He didn't reply. It would be disrespectful to the person whose grave he was standing beside. And he would never do that.

"Arradine worries," Zaraith finally admitted, settling his black robes around himself, "She asked me to speak with you."

"She may speak with me herself if she has something to say."

'I don't know if you realize it, but you have a nasty temper. The kids don't want to be on the receiving end of that.'

"She didn't want to upset you by losing her composure."

Zaraith could smell the distress, the anger and the other things. But he could not actually see it. And if he could, his worries would have been reinforced. Jareth looked- as Aidan bluntly described it- terrible. His eyes were sunken, the sockets dark from restlessness. His face was thinner and the hollows in his face more pronounced. His usual flamboyance had disintegrated into crumpled clothes and a listless stoop.

But Zaraith could see none of it. He had an idea of how bad it was, however. His wife had described it vibrantly. Not surprising, really. If he had ever been as violently emotional as the Goblin King, and then lost his beloved Arradine, he might react the same way. As it was, his heart broke to feel her so unhappy. If it had been in his power to take that loss away, he would have. All he could do was hold her, stroking her hair and kissing her face; all he could do was take care of their daughter and give Arradine the time she needed to recover.

"I wish…" Jareth murmured suddenly.

Loss. Zaraith wrinkled his nose as it changed from a sense to an almost tangible stench on the air.

I wish. The Goblin King never wished for anything. He knew better. He knew better than to use those words out loud. Bitter irony that Jareth was so desperate that he was prepared to wish to make himself feel better.

"I advise you not to," the draconite interrupted.

A heavy sigh. "I know," the half-goblin said softly, closing his eyes in pain for just a moment, fighting his urge to sink down to the ground and never get back up, "It never helps. Such a dangerous thing, a wish. But I…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I think I am done here. Are you staying?"

"No. I have to return to Arradine. She gets tired so fast now; looking after Anamika is hard on her."

Concern popped its ugly head up in Jareth's mind. "Tired? How bad is she?"

"Fairly bad."

Jareth winced, berating himself internally for not noticing sooner. "I had no idea. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, unfortunately. She just misses him so much."

"I know. She was very close to Toby. She was his first. Not that he loved any of the children more or less, but she was his in a way Ereditha and Aidan never were. He raised her almost on his own."

Zaraith would not mention the long talks they had bonded over, the long nights she had spent in his arms telling him about the time with the elves and the long ten years after her father had been found. He wouldn't mention how she still remembered her dad's breakdown on the journey to Archer's Castle. Or how she had seen how ill he had been on the long trek back to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth, even if she hadn't comprehended it at the time. Or how much she had almost hated Jareth at one time for treating Toby in so cruelly. Zaraith thought that Jareth was in enough pain without that added wound.

"He did very well with her," Jareth remarked, almost as if he were talking to himself, "She was always so strong, so proud."

"She says that she reminded Toby of you," Zaraith offered gently. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but sometimes little things like that were comforting.

Jareth smiled bitterly and dug the nails on one hand deep into the arm of the other, taking a blissful breath when he felt skin almost break beneath the intense pressure. "Thank you."

A large hand came out of nowhere to roll up his sleeve and touch the newly marked crescents in his flesh. "Hurting yourself will be of no use. It will only hurt Arradine and quite frankly I will cause a lot of trouble for you if you hurt her now. She had enough to bear without your added burdens."

Jareth raised an eyebrow and almost felt the stirrings of humour. The Draconite Lord was threatening him? His son-in-law? And that last was still a joke to him. His son-in-law! But it had happened, strange as he still thought it. Arradine had given up hope and faith, agreed to be his Heir on her eighteenth birthday and then stumbled through a shocked recitation of the draconite's proposal in the Goblin King's gardens.

Married, his eldest was. He had married them himself, almost smiling at how radiant his daughter had looked in her green and gold, blue eyes sparkling so openly that he had never had any regrets about giving his blessings to that union. Being a grandfather had had its perks after all. Anamika was a gorgeous little girl, with all her mother's loyalty and her father's gravity. Both he and Toby had relished spoiling her rotten.

But Toby wasn't here. Anamika was here at the Castle because of Toby's death. Her mother, usually so impetuous and wild and happy, was slowly tearing herself apart in her grief. And Jareth felt helpless to stop any of it.

"Armand is nearby," Zaraith put in suddenly, "And Aidan."

The silver-blond head came up sharply and a sharpening gaze swept around until it landed on two male figures nearby. Mismatched eyes narrowed and then Jareth sighed. "You were sent to bring me back, weren't you?"

"They did ask me to persuade you to return to the Castle, yes," Zaraith said easily, "You were gone the entire day and it is almost time for the evening meal. But no, I came to find you for Arradine's sake."

Jareth's frown smoothened to wistfulness. "You really love her, do you not?"

"You doubt it now?"

"No, we have had this conversation before. I know. I almost wish she didn't love you the same way."

"So she will not suffer this when her time comes?"

"So she won't suffer; yes," Jareth agreed. The two male figures had noticed him and were now walking forward. "I don't wish this suffering on any one of my children." He was very specific with that. The rest of the world didn't concern him. He could be sympathetic, but really he couldn't bring himself to care a hang if any other fae or goblin or draconite were to succumb to this. Anyone, but not his children.

"Father?"

"Hello, Aidan."

"Where were you? We were so worried!"

Jareth restrained himself and made sure his voice remained gentle. "I am able to care for myself, Aidan. I am hardly decrepit. Nor am I in need of protection."

Aidan caught the warning look in the dual-coloured eyes and backed off. He nodded tightly and offered a small smile of apology. The smile was returned, but tinged with that melancholy that distressed the younger part-goblin to see. But he pushed the emotion away and steadfastly refused to acknowledge it- "You're right. If you want something, Fiorle says he will be happy to assist you."

Fiorle. Jareth sighed and offered a silent prayer to the Gods to protect him from fae with no family of their own. They tended to adopt everyone else's. "I will remember that. Any news I should know about?"

His heir snapped to crisp professionalism, blue eyes acquiring a serious sternness. "Yes. Father, you really must try to restore spring. The goblins are beginning to complain."

Jareth caught Armand's eye and the Fairy King got the message.

"Aidan," the fae said, laying a hand on the younger male's arm, "I think His Majesty is not quite in the mood now. Tomorrow, in the morning, should be the time for this. Your Majesty?"

"Tomorrow," Jareth agreed hastily, "A ten o'clock meeting."

Aidan gave up and smoothed a reckless golden curl behind his ear. He wondered why he bothered. His father would just forget- as usual- and not attend. But he couldn't blame him, could him.

Jareth knew that look of resigned patience. Aidan never questioned him on anything. His was the path of passive resistance. And Aidan had been a rock all through this nightmare. Waking up a little now from the daze that had blanketed the past week showed him the carefully hidden dark circles and the tensed set of the shoulders.

"I will be there," he vowed, shooting him an expressive look.

Aidan smiled a little wider and nodded. "We shall see," he mocked, "I shall believe it when I see it."

"My son, gentleman," Jareth retorted, "A pillar of respect for his parent."

The young male tipped his head to the side like a curious sparrow and stuck out his tongue, dancing away when a gloved hand almost slapped him gently upside the head.

Armand grinned and jerked his chin at Zaraith. The draconite shrugged and watched them peacefully, as was his wont. Eventually, however, a goblin came out with a message from a dignitary that wanted to speak about a difficulty with a bridge badly damaged by a herd of Underground deer. Without even waiting to hear his father's opinion, Aidan accompanied the goblin back inside as he formulated a plan.

Jareth frowned a little. Had he become so dispensable? True, he had been absent for a week or two… no, longer! Months; since Toby had begun to sicken. Jareth had neglected everything in favour of spending every moment he had with his lover. At first it had not been too bad. Toby had been a little weaker, a little slower, but perfectly able to go anywhere and do anything so long as he got enough rest. He had been as normal, talking and painting and teasing as he had always done. Sitting curled up in the living room and discussing everything from the Aboveground to the future of their granddaughter. Talking over politics and philosophy and religion- or the Underground's lack thereof- and anything else that came to mind. Making love…

Jareth swallowed thickly, caught by the sudden rush of aching need through him. Just to touch that wide mouth again, to be able to brush the tip of a finger against the succulent lower lip. And if he could kiss him. If he could hold him and press against him. If he could rub all those points on Toby's body that had made the mortal whimper and arch. And oh God, to be able to taste him again, to force his hips to the bed as he took him into his mouth and made him scream. Or better yet to kiss him as he ground slowly into him. To touch the black collar with its diamond pendant that Toby sometimes wore for him, just because he felt like it, while he rode him. Hard! Anything to see those blue eyes open wide in orgasm. Anything! Anything!

"Jareth!"

Armand grabbed the Goblin King's arm tightly as the half-goblin almost slid to the ground. Zaraith helped him by grabbing Jareth from behind. Between the two of them they held him up easily, even though it was obvious that he was ready to fall in a heap.

"Jareth?" Zaraith moved a hand to Jareth's neck. It wasn't particularly cold or hot. Not illness, then. Just the mind.

The Goblin King was panting slightly. The visions had been so vivid! He could almost taste the bland copper of his lover on his tongue, or feel small hands clutch convulsively at his shoulder and his neck. Almost heard a gasping cry for more.

"Help me get him inside," Armand said quietly.

Inside. Where he would see ghosts and memories around every corner. Toby standing in the entranceway to his Castle, kissing him fiercely just a few short days after they had exchanged rings. A tiny blond infant in his throne rooms, laughing as the goblins danced around him. Corridors they had traversed together. Even the thought of Sarah, so long dead and yet just an extension of what Toby and he had shared. His Aboveground family gaping in awe at the enormous halls and the Griffith Chair.

Armand hardened his resolve and did something he never thought he would ever have to do. He whipped the flat of his palm viciously across Jareth's face.

Jareth tensed in shock and blinked at him, almost cringing back in fear. But the next second intelligence flooded back and he lifted a hand to his bruised cheek and stopped leaning back into Zaraith. Flushing a little in embarrassment. Losing himself in longing lust, just like a youth of thirteen rather than a five hundred and ninety seven year old!

"Sorry," Armand murmured, "But you were in shock."

"I'll survive," Jareth snapped, testing his jaw, "Luckily, you didn't break anything."

"Excuse me," Zaraith said at last, making his way to the Castle, "I have to go to Arradine."

"Ereditha is with her," Armand called out after him. The draconite nodded over his shoulder and continued.

Jareth attempted to follow Zaraith but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Jareth, I need to speak with you," Armand said softly, "I know this is not a good time, but I am worried about Aidan."

The "What's wrong with him?" popped out immediately.

"Nothing. And that worries me. He hasn't shown a single sign of mourning yet. That is not healthy, Jareth. He loved Toby very much. To see him so callously disregard his memory is… it worries me."

Jareth sighed and thought for a moment. "I have nothing to say," he finally declared, "Aidan cannot be forced. It will only be worse for him. He will mourn when he is ready. We can only wait."

"What happens then? He explodes? He breaks his heart? It will hurt him to keep it so repressed."

"I know. But he will come to me when he is ready. I cannot and will not demand he express what he cannot." Jareth's eyes turned dangerous. "And neither will you. Am I clear? Tell him what you like. Do what you like to encourage him. But if I hear that you are pushing him too hard and I will break you."

Armand bowed in acquiesce and let the Goblin King walk four paces away before catching up with him again. "I would never hurt, Aidan."

Jareth nodded but kept his own counsel. Never hurt Aidan, indeed! He had already done that badly over a hundred years ago. True, Aidan had mended whatever fracture his heart had sustained, but it was the principle of the thing. Armand remained oblivious of it. One night between friends and Aidan had never given him reason to suspect it had been more. He was not, Jareth allowed, to know that he had been Aidan's first. That the boy had 'kept' himself for him and then felt abandoned when it had finally happened and then been wrested away.

'Stupid, fucking fae! The next time I see him I'll- I'll cut those damned hands from his body!'

Toby had been furious, seeing Aidan in such heartsick agony. But the wolf had run out into the Labyrinth and expended its energy in there before returning to deposit a cold, tired, starving mortal on his doorstep.

But things had worked out. Aidan had gone Aboveground for a few years to escape it all. Harvey and Cassandra had been good for him, taking him out of himself and allowing him to experience a world beyond the one he came from. Sarah had mothered him in a way neither Toby nor Jareth had been able to, and Ben had been the understanding ear that Aidan could bend without worrying. And in the end, Aidan had been able to stand at Armand's wedding with genuine happiness for the pair.

"My wife wants to see you," Armand said quietly.

Jareth froze for just a second and then continued to walk, his face as blank as he could make it. He could do this. Toby would have scolded him for ignoring her so terribly and Jareth felt a lot of guilt about that. "Of course. I haven't seen Ereditha since yesterday," he said, "Where is my little Red?"

Armand sighed in relief. Ereditha had been wondering if she had done something wrong to have her father push her away so. Apparently it was all alright. Good. "In the throne room."

Jareth took a deep breath and prepared himself to hold his elf in miniature female. God, how he wished it was the real one!


	3. The Daughters

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long. There will be only another two chapters after this, I think. I hope to have them up as soon as possible.

Author's Note 2: 'Pen-dithen' is Tolkenien elvish, meaning 'little girl'.

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"Red?"

Jareth paused at the top of the stairs, that habitual eyebrow rising at the scene. Both of his daughters were gathered in the throne room, Ereditha sitting in his stone seat, Arradine playing with Anamika on the floor.

"I seem to be interrupting," he resumed, "Is this an invasion? Should I kneel in surrender?"

Arradine looked confused, but Ereditha laughed and got off the throne. "Yes, father," she giggled, "We fairies will take back what is ours by right."

"You may try," he said feelingly, stopping not two feet from her. He waited, the smile fading in that bitter way that he saw reflected on her face. They looked at each other in silence until he found the worry lurking in her eyes. He watched it grow. He watched as she lifted her chin to make up for her slipping confidence. And then he stepped forward and enfolded her in a warm hug.

Ereditha sighed and leaned against him. "We were worried," she said evasively, "You have been gone most days this week."

"Have you missed me, little one?"

"Of course. I always do."

Jareth held her a little tighter and then let her go with a kiss to the top of her stylish blond head. "Come, then. Sit down and talk to me. And how is my granddaughter?" He hefted the little girl up and groaned in mock exertion. "Anamika! How big are you growing? Stop immediately!"

She squealed as he began to spin- slow at first and then faster, finally ending on his lap as he sat down gracefully in his chair without missing a beat. "Do it again," she begged.

Arradine snorted and took her away. "No, pen-dithen," she chided, "You have to eat and if Grandfather keeps spinning you, you won't be able to eat anything. And Fiorle has your favourite."

"Yay!" Anamika took off, green eyes glowing as she bounded lithely up the stairs.

"You really shouldn't spin her like that," Arradine said half-heartedly, "She'll only feel sick."

"Let her be, Arradine. It won't make much difference if she eats a little less for one evening. She is healthy enough; she can stand it."

"But I don't think I can. If she wakes up tonight complaining of a tummy upset, I'll send her to you."

Jareth shrugged and crossed his legs under him, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin in one hand. "It would be nice," he said softly, "To have company at night."

Both girls stilled and shared a speaking look with each other. They had been looking for such an opening for a long time now, wanting their father to open up and talk. This business of running away and returning numbed was becoming scary.

"We could stay up with you," Ereditha suggested, "We can sit and talk. Like we used to do. Do you remember? We haven't done it for years."

"Your Dad needed his sleep by then," Jareth sighed, "I had to get him to bed."

"Yes, but… Dad's not- not here now. And if you need us, then we're here. Just for you. Anything you need, we can make some arrangements." Ereditha perched on one curved arm and stroked the long, uneven blond hair. "Just tell us what to do."

Jareth was looking at Arradine, taking objective note of when her expression sharpened to grief at the mention of Toby's death. It was hard on the woman, obviously. But he could do nothing about it. What was he to do? Giving her platitudes would not help; neither would coddling her. She had to work it for herself. "I don't need anything," he replied, sitting up straighter and resting his head back against the stone curve, "I know this isn't easy, but you just have to let me handle it in my own way."

"Yes, but, Father, your way is to shut it up inside yourself until it begins to choke you. This isn't something you just try to forget, you know." Arradine.

"Well, what would you have me do? Such a wound isn't going to heal. I am not going to find someone to fill the emptiness. I am not inclined to throw myself into work and denial."

"Yes, but you are wallowing," Arradine pointed out, "Wallowing is not good!"

He conjured up a glass of water and drank it. "You'll have to forgive me if my views on my behaviour differ from yours."

Ereditha saw the danger signals. She knew what happened when Arradine and Jareth drifted into using just 'that tone'. In fact, if she was truthful, she caught a flash of memory from the corner of her eye and turned slightly, expecting to catch that long-suffering look on her Dad's face as he sent a pleading glance her way. The entire family was drawn into the fray when Jareth and Arradine began to argue.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Father," Arradine remarked unexpectedly, "I have no wish to alienate you. I just worry for you. Dad was worried for you. He said not to let you mope. But you insist on moping and we can't do anything about it. We can't because you won't let us and so we have to feel guilty, but that'salright because you seem happier being self-destructive. I hope you understand the bitter end you seem to crave."

She stalked away, trembling and white as if she were more scared by the words than angered by the concept.

She was scared. Ereditha sighed and wished she had intervened in time. Her father looked devastated, and no wonder. Arradine had used the cruelest needles of guilt it was possible to use. Though, and to be fair to her, Ereditha didn't think Arradine was speaking from anger. It scared all of them that Jareth seemed to be drifting away into himself before their eyes. And it was true that Toby hadn't wanted any of this for his husband. He had laughed about it, of course, but his request to get Jareth to get on with his life had been made in all seriousness.

_'You know how he is, Red. He'll feel guilty because he couldn't do anything to stop it. I've told him over and over that it's only because I don't want to keep fighting my mortality. I've lived longer than I should have and I want to go. It's not wrong of me, is it?'_

"Not wrong," she murmured, pacing around the room, "Not wrong at all."

"What's not wrong?"

Jareth. She had forgotten Jareth was still in the room. Sitting there in crumpled clothing and tired resignation. "He told me that you would blame yourself. He's right, isn't he?"

Jareth looked away and didn't answer. But the way he was digging his nails again and again into his wrist spoke more eloquently than words.

"You know Arra wasn't trying to hurt you?" Ereditha was anxious on this point. "She was actually just pointing out… I mean, she was…"

"Being truthful? Is that what all of you think?"

"Dad asked us all to keep you going after his death," she said bluntly, "We really are trying."

"Would it make any difference to me, Red? Aidan has the job well in hand. He could handle it if I just slipped away. Arradine and you both have your own families now." He was wallowing. Looking at things in his most objective way, he knew he was wallowing in self-pity. But damn it all, he deserved a little time to wallow!

"We'd miss you," was all she said. But from the way she paled, Jareth didn't think she agreed with him.

He narrowed his eyes and thought for the umpteenth time that Ereditha was much too bright to have her life turn out the way it had. It took him out of himself, made his wits sharpen a little. "Red, may I ask you a question?"

"If you wish."

"Why have you not bonded with Armand?"

She looked awkward and annoyed and he supposed he shouldn't have brought up such an intense topic when neither of them was really in the mood to discuss it. Toby had often told him to shut up about this.

_'It's none of our business,'_ the mortal had said, _'Keep out of it, okay? She'll do what she needs to.'_

But Jareth was curious. And there was no fire-blond digging a sharp elbow into his ribs when he said the wrong thing.

"It's not been the right time," Ereditha excused.

"You are married to him. You rule at his side. You seem happy with him."

"Father, we've had this discussion before. I just need some time. There is a lot I have to do; things occupy me."

"There is nothing you can tell me about time, Ereditha. I rule a Kingdom too."

"Yes, I saw what you went through," Ereditha snapped. A second later she sighed and dropped the haughty tilt of her head she had unconsciously affected. "It's not the right time."

Jareth nodded off-hand. He didn't say any more. In fact, he changed the subject. He began to ask- casually- about certain people he had known in the Fairy Kingdom. He hadn't set foot in there ever again. Even when Ereditha had married, Jareth had categorically insisted that she either marry in the Goblin Kingdom or expect never to see him at her binding ceremony. Ereditha had fought it. Armand had uncomfortably taken Jareth's side in things.

Toby had had a few things to say to his youngest about it.

Ereditha had listened to no one's advice. She took things in her headstrong way and had the wedding ceremony at Armand's palace. Neither Toby nor Jareth had been in attendance.

The truth was, Jareth mused, she hadn't really understood why. Why should she? Ereditha had never been told about his seven years' enslavement. Aidan had only known because he'd seen a few horrific things. Arradine had never asked.

So Aidan had told both girls- bitterly and at great length- of the few things he remembered and the vague things he'd found out. Sometimes he wondered if Aidan had intended to deal the shaky marriage such a devastating blow. It wasn't like Aidan. But his son was… well, his son had a ruthless streak where his heart was concerned. Jareth wouldn't quite put it past him.

Ereditha had left her new husband and gone straight back home, refusing to even acknowledge that she was in any way in love with such 'a race of monsters'. The scandal had raged. Toby- and Jareth was always grateful for the mortal's sheer good sense- had simply arranged for Aidan to pay them an unannounced visit. Jareth stayed out of it, well aware that he had made his point without even doing anything.

Sitting in his throne room and conversing about people he had once held in respect, he knew would jog the girl's memory. She began to fidget and answer in short sentences, to play with her rings and tug on her curls. Jareth kept on talking, eventually just describing people whose names he couldn't remember, but whose faces- and certain other body parts- he could.

"Alright, enough," she pleaded at last.

Jareth raised an eyebrow in innocent enquiry.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing a thing, little one. I thought we were having a pleasant conversation."

"Look, I just do not want to bond with Armand. Why is that so hard to understand? I am happy as I am. He sees no problem to it; why should you?"

"I have no problem with it," Jareth asserted, playing with a crystal in his careless way, "You live as you see fit."

"Then why are you questioning me?"

"I think you are not happy."

"Unhappy?" Ereditha stopped pacing and stared at him in astonishment. "What gave you such an idea? I have never been less happy in my life!"

"Ah-ah-ah." Jareth wagged an annoyingly reproving finger at her. "Watch what I say. I said you were not happy, not unhappy. Unhappiness refers to sadness. You are not sad. You just aren't happy."

She raised a hand to cover her eyes in exasperation. "And what would you have me do?" she demanded harshly, "Be a slave to him? Prostrate myself at his feet?"

"No."

"Good. Because I am not the sort to kneel," she snapped, lowering her hand in anger, "Not every relationship has to be the same sort of- of dominion that you had over Dad. Armand is not like that. I am not like that. I am sorry if you cannot understand it, but that is the way I want to be."

She flounced away and the Goblin King watched her go without a change of expression. He waited, listening in case she returned. But she didn't. Jareth wasn't really expecting her to. He sat up as if his bones ached and stretched. Then he got slowly to his feet and apparated away.

The bedchamber he appeared in was empty and cold. The curtains had not been drawn since the goblins had opened them to air the stench of death from the room. The silver and blue furnishings were still in place. The golden ring still lay on the nightstand and the clothes were still in the cupboard. Jareth knew that if he were to open that secret compartment above their bed, he would still find the collar. No chains any more; neither of them liked chains. But the collar was fine. It was only a symbol, as such.

Jareth sat down in the window and watched the moon rise. Not full. Nothing more than a sliver of light in the sky. The brief thought flitted into his mind that he had missed dinner and any evening's conversation with his remaining family. It felt important, but he was too tired.

So he rested his head back against the stone and shut his eyes. A playful breeze tugged at his shirt, ruffling the open neck and slipping cold fingers inside. He ignored it and let his thoughts drift away.

Fiorle found him asleep in the window, precariously balanced, when he checked on him late that night. The Prince had asked him; Fiorle was willing to do anything for any of the three children. Jareth was asleep, so tired he didn't stir when the older fae tried to rouse him enough to help him into bed. Fiorle resorted to picking him up and carrying him.

Jareth's only concession was to cling tight to this unexpected warmth, murmuring unintelligibly when Fiorle almost put him down on the bed. And then the fairy didn't have the heart to let him wake up in such a place and turned away from the bed. If not there, then where?

Fiorle bit his lip and looked from Jareth's exhausted visage to the door.

The couch. It would have to be the couch. So Fiorle took him outside and set him down peacefully on the broad couch. He banked cushions under the silver-blond head and got a blanket from a nearby cupboard. It would be a cold night and Jareth could do without getting ill. Fiorle had almost left when he remembered one more thing that had helped his young mortal friend in days gone by.

He paused, returned to the Goblin King's side and silently lit a candle. He put it just out of reach and left it there to burn the dark away in a room filled with shadows.


	4. The Son

"Father?"

Jareth started and turned his head to catch a glimpse of the worried face behind him. "Yes?"

Aidan sighed and joined his father at the balcony railing. "It is past midnight," he murmured, "Have you tried to sleep?"

"No."

"You will eventually collapse, you know that. You haven't slept for days on end. Not since the…"

"Since the funeral. Sleep is rather elusive just now."

The prince sneaked another look at the averted profile. It still shocked him. His parents had been almost fatally in love, he knew that. People spoke of it- joked about it, sighed about it. It had been so for years. But for all that, he had never expected to see the proud half-goblin in this state. "We miss him too, Father."

A humourless smile; the only kind used lately. Not since Toby had started to weaken and get sick.

Aidan wasn't feeling particularly encouraged. They had had this conversation before. Lorelei usually spiked the food so that small doses of relaxing elixirs slipped at frequent intervals down the Goblin King's throat, and Arradine's. They had tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen. He heard them- of that they were sure- but he ignored everything for the most part, retreating further and further into his own mind as the hours passed. Arradine was scared. Ereditha was furious.

"Your daughters would have a lot to say if they knew," Aidan attempted, trying to get a response.

"I know. They already have. A week ago."

Monosyllables. Aidan squeezed his eyes shut briefly and tried not to let his worries get the better of him. Armand had warned him to tread carefully, to remain calm. "You will only drive him away with recriminations," the Fae King had said. Aidan trusted the fairy. So he counted slowly to five and then opened his eyes again. "Father, please. At least sit inside if you will not sleep."

For the longest moment, there was no answer. And then Jareth turned a little, leaning one hand against the rail as he levelled a curious look at his son. The beginnings of a rusty smirk began to make its presence felt. And if that were not such a shocking surprise, his words were- "Do you think I mean to jump and not save myself?"

Aidan blinked and looked down from the height they were at. "No."

"Then why, in the name of everything pure, are you so afraid to leave me on my own outside? Perhaps you expect me to vanish suddenly."

"No!"

"Oh, good. Then maybe you fear that there are still people out there that would try to harm me? At dead of night? When I am so weakened that I wouldn't even care?"

"I just worry for you."

"Aidan, I have no intention of ending my life," Jareth soothed, "Have I ever been so disgustingly dramatic? Your Dad might have done that, but not I. I wouldn't have the courage."

"I would hardly call it courage."

Jareth contemplated the peculiar conversation he seemed to be in the middle of. Aidan genuinely looked relieved at the assurances. Had the boy really thought… no, not boy. Man, now. Grown up and making his own decisions. Even if Jareth wasn't privy or approving to all of them. A strange change from that overwhelming blind faith. "What would you call it?" he asked lightly.

"Cowardice," Aidan insisted.

Terrible answer. "I already said your Dad might have indulged in it, were our positions reversed." Watching stormy blue eyes and icy control. Jareth was once again reminded of that morning's meeting he had missed. Aidan had taken care of everything with single-minded dedication, or so he heard. The cracks were sure to show anytime soon.

"Dad was a notorious coward where you were concerned. Or us. You know that."

Aidan swallowed the sizable fear in his throat. Near silence for days had prompted him to forget that calm was always ominous. His father was not a very rational person. And the one that had balanced him, stood as a buffer between that nasty temper and the rest of the world was lying cold in the ground in the forests behind the Castle. That tiny smirk had been the breaking of whatever glacial barrier had separated anger and grief. The barrier was now gone and Aidan had said the unforgivable.

Jareth lost his temper. Everything pressed down, pressed in, pushed and pushed and wanted more from him than he knew how to give and everything inside of him that had kept the balance felt as if it had been ripped out. It didn't matter any more what Lorelei said. He didn't care! Could no one understand that? It didn't matter that his children protested and begged. They were not his husband and they could not bring him the comfort he needed.

He hated. Hated that a small, slender mortal made him feel as if the sun would never rise again. It was a ridiculous feeling. It made him vulnerable and he was not a person comfortable with vulnerability.

His mind told him in agonizing clarity what he wanted to happen. He wanted somehow to hear that voice in his head that would yell at him for taking his temper out on his son and then to feel the slight ripple in the air as Toby apparated to be with him, glaring blue eyes narrowed. He wanted his lover again. He knew what he would do if Toby were to ever appear to him. Angry with him or not, Jareth would grab him and kiss him senseless, kiss him until he were breathless and glassy-eyed and incapable of coherent speech and then he would…

"Father?"

Jareth sucked in another lungful of air and half-heartedly pushed the soothing hands away from him. "Don't touch me," he panted, "Please."

Aidan nodded and let him fight his own battles with his lungs. Sleek limbs gracefully poised to catch the older male and support him, golden hair severely clipped back. Black and silver tunic and leggings, soft black boots and that soft, wide mouth that just waited unconsciously to offer hope. To offer love.

Jareth shrank back even further and shook his head. It never left, really- that fear. And he knew what Toby would have said to that. Would have cupped Jareth's angular face in his hands and told him to stop being an idiot. But Toby wasn't here! Was gone forever!

"Father?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." He was. He could do this. He could step cautiously forward and hold out a hand, even if he was scared of what he might do.

Aidan's brows pulled together a little, obviously perturbed. But he accepted the hand in one of his and rubbed his thumb soothingly over the tensed knuckles. "I know it hurts," he said, "I know it feels as if life cannot possibly continue. But it does. And the only thing you do is hurt yourself."

"What else is there?" his father said bitterly, looking down at their hands. It was the first truly open thing he had said for weeks.

Aidan drew them just a little closer. "Let us help you," he pleaded, placing his other hand tentatively on a white-clothed shoulder. "Arradine and Ereditha both want to be there for you."

"I don't mean to push them away."

"But you do. Father, you are allowed to grieve! You loved someone deeply and they died. No one blames you for anything."

"I never said they did."

"I'm just telling you. It must have been hard." Aidan had been there. He knew how hard it had been.

"It was," Jareth remarked. He seemed to lose himself again, looking inwards to something else entirely.

Aidan used the moment to move closer. Hesitantly, he lifted his other hand to rest on his father's shoulder. Contact was not something allowed between the two of them. If they were close, it was always a closeness that was very aware of certain boundaries. This broke quite a few of them. People in grief were dangerous people, he had once heard someone say. His father was dangerous at the best of times.

"I remember how irritated Dad would get, though," Aidan offered, trying to make eye contact, "Whenever we tried to make him rest. Remember when he exploded the potion?"

Jareth's eyes snapped up, but the sparkle of amusement had replaced the usually dull haze. "Oh, yes. I remember," he breathed.

Aidan laughed softly and then much to his horror, heard his own voice end on a sob. He looked away in embarrassment and cleared his throat, well aware that the sparkle remained in mismatched eyes but that the amusement had turned to sympathy. He had meant to offer comfort, not ask for it!

Jareth studied his son, wracking his brain to think of why there were silent tears slipping unchecked down the smooth cheeks. Aidan didn't cry easily. And never in anyone else's presence. The last time had been when he had broken his heart for the first time. Never again. Never like this. It occurred to him that he had seen Arradine cry, and Ereditha, had heard stifled weeping from both as he had murmured the blessings mechanically at the funeral. Aidan had stood straight and true at his side, pale but resolute. Aidan had made arrangements and attended to… everything.

Toby wasn't here to make things better.

Without thought Jareth took them both down to the garden. Took them to the bench that Toby had once said was his favourite because it was so close to those little white flowers that smelt like lemon and something innocent. Took him there, sat them both down firmly and drew the fire-blond head down to his shoulder. Rocked back and forth.

The flash of memory: sitting in Aidan's simple nursery in Archer's palace, with an infant in his lap that was upset because he had had a bad dream and no one had been there to comfort him. Rocking them both and singing quietly.

Jareth didn't sing this time- he didn't think he could- but he could certainly hold his son tightly.

Aidan was shocked, but the shock only made things worse. He hadn't meant to cry. He had meant to do his duty to his King and father, to take Jareth indoors and perhaps force him to sleep for a few hours. He had meant to get up in the morning to politely reply to all the letters that various dignitaries had sent with their condolences. Then, he had meant to see the humans in the Ivory Tower.

But the reassuring smell of pine and smoke tore through his reservations, the feel of a hard shoulder achingly perfect for a heavy head. The soft, silky feel of a white chiffon shirt clutched tight in his fist. And since when had he fisted his hands in his father's shirt? Since when had he burst into tears and started wailing softly at the unfairness of it all?

Jareth let his son cry, shushed him when he tried to explain, held him tighter when he tried to pull away. There was no point in thinking. Instinct took over. He knew Aidan just as he knew himself. Just as he had known his elf. In the warm stillness of a hot summer's night, this was what was needed.

"I'm sorry."

"Never say that. If I can grieve, so can you. He sired you. He raised you. You have the right to love him."

"I love you too," Aidan replied, recklessly planting a tiny kiss on a cool cheek.

"I know." Jareth didn't remember the last time he had told his son he loved him. But he didn't do things like that. He just didn't.

Aidan didn't expect it either. He just accepted whatever he was given and treasured it as it was. Then he sat up straight and pushed away the emotions to direct a stern, business-like glare at the male beside him. "Then do not give me more work by having to worry for you while worrying for everyone else," he mock-ordered, "Come inside and sit with me. I have a few papers that need to be signed. Papers from the meeting?"

Jareth slumped and shut his eyes, annoyed with himself for having forgotten again. "Of course. Sorry. It completely slipped my mind and I can't think how I came to forget it. Yes. We should finish it tonight. Is it very urgent?"

Aidan softened and shook his head. "Not urgent. Just a few bits and pieces. I can manage most of it myself. I just thought you might want to occupy your mind, now."

Jareth leaned forward and looked up at him, as if really trying to see him for the first time in months. Every inch of Aidan- more or less- was familiar to his eyes. This tall, slender adult with his cynical blue eyes and innocent mouth was the very contradictions between the Goblin King and his late husband. Innocence mixed with knowing; bright smile and dark thoughts- Jareth could read them. Could see them turn in his clever mind while Aidan turned something over in his head. Aidan could be cruel.

Cruel and clever. Just as his father before him. Cruel and clever and capable of so much blindness. Aidan's blind spot wasn't a person, as Archer had been Jareth's, but was a way of thinking. Aidan believed that everyone was a risk and a hazard. He believed the world could not be a good place. He believed the very worst of everything. That was Aidan's fault.

Not necessarily a bad thing, Jareth owned. Not as unforgivable as Arradine's whole-hearted emotions or Ereditha's fretful doubting. Sunny women, the both of them. Arradine was the better version of Jareth that Toby had made her. But Jareth's impetuous nature was tempered by experience. She had yet to feel defeat. Ereditha had everything one could hope for- she was the darling of her family, the adored wife of the Fairy King and she was a strong, clever woman in her own right. She didn't have the strength to put everything on the line for a possible happy ending, too afraid it would go wrong.

Perhaps both Arradine and Ereditha were his fault- his and Toby's. Probably they were. After all, Arradine was Jareth's daughter. He had sired her, educated her, set her an example. Ereditha had been babied and coddled for so long. The dangerous past was never told her because Jareth and Toby had never thought it could affect her. But it could. Because she was a woman who obviously held that complete happiness came at too high a risk.

And Aidan…

"Father?"

Jareth looked up, startled out of his reverie by the quiet voice. Aidan wasn't fawning frantically over him. He was sitting there, a careful look of enquiry on his face, still slightly damp from his crying spree. Just sitting. And waiting patiently.

The right attributes of a King.

Aidan had been King in all but name for months. Since when? Jareth didn't even remember. He had begun to train the man when Aidan had returned to the Underground, at first because it took the child's mind off his dark memories and then because he grudgingly supposed it needed to begin sometime. Aidan had just been given a few things to do, here and there around the Castle. His opinion had been sought, his presence requested.

"You will make a fine King," Jareth commented out loud, reaching out a hand to stroke the golden head, "Your Dad would be proud."

"Thank you."

The request was unspoken but Jareth knew how these things went. To have that much dependence on one's father… "I'm proud of you too, but that goes without saying." He didn't make much of it.

Aidan didn't either. He just nodded and then offered his hand. "Inside? Please?"

Jareth grumbled as he got to his feet, gripping harder as he apparated them both to the library. "Children," he sighed scathingly, "They terrorize you for the rest of your life. Why they insist on keeping an old half-goblin from his rest I will never know."

"Because the old half-goblin can outlast them at almost everything," Aidan chuckled, smothering a yawn behind his hand.

The Goblin King grinned a tired smile and shrugged.


	5. Past

Author's Note: The last chapter was not the end, no. Neither is this one. Don't worry. Not too long now.

Author's Note2: I used this chapter for a whole hailstorm of memories, so please remember that this is rated 'M' for a reason.

---------------------------------------------------

Life got easier after a time. Not better, naturally, but easier. Things settled into a particular groove and even if the sons-in-law finally decided that enough was enough and they needed to return to their duties of managing the Underground, the two females stayed. Much to Aidan's annoyance. They kept trying to help him.

Jareth found it quite funny in a melancholy kind of way. Which only made him wish his bond mate was there to share the amusement with him. He didn't visit the grave anymore. It hurt too much and the last time he had sat beside it, he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave for two days. After which Fiorle had coaxed him away like a stray puppy.

The Goblin King was going soft.

He sighed, as he leaned his head against the wall and stared blindly out over his lands. There was work waiting for him, if he could gather himself to do it. But if he left it, Aidan would eventually stumble upon it and get it done. The thought occurred that it might be urgent. But even if it was, did he even care?

He cringed as he looked out over the lands. Summer was late. Spring had barely raised the temperature. The snow had melted and the crops had been sown. A few had presented, but very poorly. It rained more days more often than not. The goblins were holding their tongues so far, but there were probably those in the City and in the villages who were shaking their heads and asking what else could be expected. Some of them might even pity him.

Which was a revolting thought! Jareth shuddered distastefully to think of himself as an object of pity to a goblin.

Though they never had before.

His gaze turned thoughtful as he played with the edge of a silk scarf. The goblins usually didn't blame him for most things in his life, but they didn't pity him. They didn't like him enough to pity him. He hadn't reacted well to any attempt to fit in pleasantly with them.

Perhaps they wouldn't pity him. He was still hopeful about that.

"Ereditha, how can you be so naïve? Of course she is blackmailing her!"

He slumped for a moment and turned around, folding his arms and waiting. The inaudible murmur of Ereditha's voice said something and then Arradine's silver laugh slipped through the half-opened door.

"Lady Carif is a sweet person, yes, but she cannot be happily married to that old fae without some kind of sustenance on the side."

Jareth waited.

The white hand came around the door and Arradine came in, her eyes shining and her hair loose, looking like the girl she had once been. She was shining with a greater glow, looking softly happy. Jareth didn't alert her averted attention to his presence.

"Arra, I think you are barking up the wrong tree," Ereditha rebuked, "The Lady Carif is too simple-minded to take a lover and besides, she really does love Lord Carif. I cannot think why. He seems a cold, ruthless sort of person."

"Which is probably to say he is a dragon between the sheets," Arradine giggled.

Jareth could picture the fae in question. A better person than most of them, he conceded that. Lord Carif had been there that fateful night that the former Goblin King had met the Fae Queen, had been disgusted by the display and was one of the only few to protest his treatment. On the Goblin King's reinstatement, a blunt letter had arrived from the Fae Kingdom, bearing Carif's insignia and formally offering apologizing for the disgraceful actions of his people.

Jareth had scoffed, torn the letter up and thrown it away. But he hadn't forgotten it. And he supposed that he held the fae in a lesser contempt and hatred than he did most of the others, especially considering that Carif had seen him personally during those seven years.

"And you would know all about dragons," Ereditha teased, "After all, with Zaraith you say that…"

"Pray allow me to interrupt, but I am not listening to another word either of you shameless pixies has to say," Jareth called out.

They started and looked over to the far window. "Oh dear. How much of our conversation did you hear?" Arradine asked, turning pink.

"Enough," Jareth said shortly, "I never knew my daughters had such minds."

"We said nothing wrong," Arradine protested.

"Speculating about the private lives of other people and making suggestive remarks is not quite nothing," Jareth retorted. But he wasn't really angry. They were grown women. They had the right to say whatever they wanted. They were also married and he supposed their sex lives were fulfilling enough to keep them both happy with their partners. They had been married almost a hundred years each. Bad sex would have lost its appeal by then.

Arradine looked at Ereditha and the latter shook her head and went back a step. 'Your decision' the gesture seemed to say. Arradine nodded and lifted a hand to touch the emerald at her throat. "I have some good news," she said carefully, "Ereditha and I were looking for you to tell you, but I suppose we got side-tracked. Are… do you want to hear it? Do you feel up to it? It isn't really urgent, I just thought you might want to be the first to know."

"Know what?" Jareth was confused.

She walked to him, smiling that same soft smile that had been so familiar on another face, reaching out to take his hand. "How do you feel?" she asked softly.

"I can handle whatever it is."

She nodded, still smiling and drew his hand down to her stomach, held it there with both of hers. "Can you feel it? Just the lightest touch of new life."

Jareth stared down, unbelieving and not quite getting it and then there it was. A brief flicker- less than a heartbeat but more than a seed. A life, as his daughter called it, the tiniest beat of life. But that was impossible, surely? She was… "Arradine, this is wonderful! When?"

Ereditha was shocked. That level of exuberance hadn't been heard in the Goblin King's voice since a year before her Dad had begun to falter. It was a strong voice, that one. Nothing like the dull drawl of before, but filled with all the fire and restlessness that reminded her of childhood.

"This is marvellous!" Jareth put one arm around Arradine's waist and drew her close to hug her, his hand still gently seeking the source of that baby. "It doesn't feel very old. A few days, perhaps, at most."

"Less than a month, yes," she laughed, "I told Zaraith and he was so happy. He is coming back here for a few days more, if you don't mind. Anamika will have a sibling."

Jareth smiled and bled inside and drew her close and kissed her cheek, savagely hating himself for hating the life inside of her.

Ereditha watched, none the wiser, smiling along with the two of them. "We haven't told Aidan either," she commented, "We went to the library to find him and got thrown out unless we had a way to magick up the plans for a new path through the outer territories. It seems there was a landslide."

"Tell him to have the HighLevel gate opened and a path smoothed from there to the East Banner. After than, turn left and rejoin the section of the path that won't be destroyed because I happen to know there are walls protecting it from harm. And then arrange more walls to be built around the new danger areas when the debris is cleared. Arradine, this is cause for celebration. And on that note, may I entice you to take Fiorle with you as a helpmeet? He is driving me mad here!"

The two girls laughed and Jareth smiled with them, relieved to see them look so happy again. He put one arm around Ereditha's shoulders, another around Arradine's waist- only to feel the baby- and drew them both to the door. "Come. We shall get Aidan to get his head out of the inkpot and tell him the good news. And then you, my dear, are going to rest!"

Aidan was not headfirst in an inkpot when they got there, but he was feverishly chattering to a goblin architect, making plans for the clearing of the stones and mud as soon as possible. His brows lowered when his sisters came in. "If you even open your mouths," he threatened.

Jareth followed and threw the goblin out after him, slamming the door on the poor thing. "I think you will want them to," he said negligently, "Oh, and whatever plan you have for the bridge, cancel it. I will handle it myself."

"You will?" Aidan was still getting used to Jareth even entering the library, let alone in the company of his daughters and offering to do work. "That would be… good."

"It is my work, Aidan. You don't have to thank me for it."

"Of course! I only meant… what was it, Red?"

Ereditha giggled and pushed Arradine forward.

There was no point repeating the same method with the Prince. His magic was not at all able to feel life taking shape. Aidan was, as far as magic went, the weakest them all of. Only because he was still a Prince and not a Royal Consort, a Queen, or a King. Ereditha had the sneaking suspicion his abilities to command the power of the Labyrinth would beat even their Father's. He had never yet failed any of his trips through those stone passages.

"I'm pregnant," Arradine exulted.

Aidan blinked. "Again?"

She smacked him and glared. "Yes, you insolent little…"

"Now, now, children," Jareth interjected lazily, "Play nice."

"Sorry, Arra. You mean it? You're really pregnant? That's great! When did you find out? How long? When is it due? Does Zaraith know?"

"Zaraith knows," Arradine laughed, "I had Manvi do the test and she told me last night."

"He is coming here, isn't he?" Aidan demanded.

"Yes, yes. Just for a few days, though. There is so much to do there and the outlaws tried to take another draconite last week so a few are out for revenge and Zaraith has to get them back before their treaty is forfeit, but he is coming here to be with me. And he is bringing Anamika so we can tell her together."

His daughter was shining, glowing with her smile and her loose hair and her green gown. Slender and pretty and a sight to behold was Zaraith's bride. Jareth watched her, his heart in his boots.

It shouldn't be affecting him like this, he realized. He shouldn't be angry about her happiness. And moreover, he shouldn't want to rest of the world to stop just because Toby wasn't there to see it turn. So Toby would not see his second grandchild. He would never be there when Aidan married- if he did- or when Ereditha bonded- if she did. He would not be there when there were more grandchildren- if those were ever born. It didn't mean that Jareth should want his children to mourn and weep as he did. It wasn't right of him. It was downright evil.

"I propose a celebration," he announced, "Nothing alcoholic because you, Arra, are hereby forbidden to drink!"

She pretended to faint in mock horror and the other two grinned. Arradine liked alcohol. She didn't get drunk; she just enjoyed a drink or two now and again.

"Tell Fiorle to meet us and we shall arrange a picnic. Each with our respective methods of travelling, of course. Yes, Red, I know how much you love to fly. And then we shall all go and annoy Wellis."

Aidan let out a boyish whoop and threw down his pen. He was out the door, Ereditha running after him like a child with her skirts held out of the way in one hand and shouting playfully at him to get his horse ready while she went for the food.

"I hope it's alright that we have Fiorle," Jareth remarked, looking at his last child left in the room.

"It wouldn't be a celebration without him," Arradine sighed, "We always consider him part of the family."

Part of the furnishing, more like, Jareth thought silently. But they all loved him as an older friend, and whatever they took for granted about him was always made up by their pleasure in his company. Fiorle was family. Toby had made sure of that.

"Go get him, Arradine. I'll finish this landslide business up and join you at the entranceway in an hour." He nodded at her and waited while she left the room. Then he deliberately sat down, picked up the pen and painstakingly wrote up the instructions that years of ruling brought easily to mind. He took the map that Aidan had set aside, chalked in the route he had suggested and attached it to the paper. He had both delivered to one of Aidan's trusted advisers.

One of Aidan's.

Then he sat down and let silent tears seep slowly out as he curled up in the corner of the library's window ledge, steadfastly refusing to emit the sob in his throat but unable to keep the loss dormant any longer. All of it took less than ten minutes, after which he made his way to the room he had begun lately to occupy and washed the salt from his skin. He bathed his eyes to remove the faint soreness and waited while his breathing returned to normal and his head stopped pounding.

And then, half an hour later, he was waiting comfortably at the front entrance of his Castle, a spark of happiness in his eyes that his children hadn't seen for a while. Even Fiorle was taken-aback by it, but, like the younger trio, didn't tempt fate by commenting on it.

Aidan had already saddled the two horses that he and Fiorle used. Arradine, Ereditha and Jareth proposed to fly. The owl was discarded as a nocturnal bird and a white hawk imperiously led the way. The dragon followed soon after, much smaller than the draconites, with the sun glowing on the dark green scales. A kingfisher went next up into the air, festooned in bright colours as all the fae royalty were. The dragon gave lazy indication of indulgently slowing down for the other two.

Aidan and Fiorle were no further behind than they could help. Their mounts were swift. They kept up remarkably well.

And eventually the hawk dropped altitude as it flew towards the Labyrinth, took a sharp turn left and continued on, flew over a wall and passed an enormous statue of a giant and then landed in the centre of a grassy knoll that looked just big enough for all of them.

Fiorle reigned in his stallion and waited for Aidan to catch up. "A nice place," he commented.

The Prince looked a little troubled. "This isn't like Father," he said simply, "He's never brought any of us here before. This has no special significance for any of us."

The dark fae bit his lip as he looked around. "Are you sure?" he whispered, "Perhaps he just remembered a picnic from his youth."

"I don't think he took many picnics in his youth," Aidan whispered, "It's just not like him to bring us here."

"It seems innocent to me."

The Prince nodded absently and looked around again. Jareth had transformed back to his human form and so had Ereditha. The two were attempting to persuade the dragon that they would like Arradine as she usually was too. There was a lot of loud laughing and even a shriek as Arradine blew a ring of flame around the two that sizzled alarmingly one moment and disappeared the next when Jareth put it out with a wave of his hand. The long green tail swished good-naturedly in the grass and the claws were sheathed and carefully put out of the way. Arradine was only playing. The Goblin King didn't look particularly out of character.

"Alright," he sighed, "I suppose there is nothing wrong. I suppose I was only overreacting."

"It happens to us all, my Prince. Especially when we worry about those we love."

Aidan shrugged sheepishly and helped Fiorle unload their baggage.

Jareth sat down for as long as the conversation raged, but when the sun began to turn to late afternoon, he was on his back, eyes closed and face set in peaceful repose. He scoffed at any suggestion of moving, sending them on to meet Wellis all by themselves as he couldn't be bothered with 'Hedwart's imbecile of a son'. They took the horses but left the rest of their things with him, promising to return before sunset to get them and their father.

Jareth waited until they were out of sight before he sat up and walked slowly to the nearest tree. He looked up at it. He turned and looked back around the tiny clearing that boxed him in and shuddered. He could almost see Archer here, could almost smell those cigarettes he used to smoke in those days. On any of those picnics in the past, Archer would have been encouraging him to wax philosophical by this point, subtly drawing him out of his shell to talk.

And Jareth would talk, young as he was and so much more innocent. He would talk about his fears and dreams and what had happened to him the day before and about his father and his strained communication with his mother and how stupid he found it that people expected him to mope around in moral anguish and die.

The half-goblin turned back to the tree and contemplated its length. It was big enough. He caught the nearest branch and began.

Halfway through the experience, he got rid of his boots and continued barefoot, panting lightly to himself when he had to rely completely on the strength in his arms to lever himself up to the next level. His jacket went the way of his boots. His shirt might have followed if Jareth could be bothered stopping. He reached the last branch it was safe for him to reach and he sat there and looked around again.

The clearing was smaller. He could see the tops of the overgrown trees as he looked further. There would be thick shrubs with berries and some kinds of fruit- 'a madman's orchard' Archer had called it.

Jareth could almost see him, staring down at the grass from such a distance. He could trace the long body spread out in the grass and see the serviceable brown breeches and white shirt he had always worn for such picnics. The black boots with no heel. Dark hair with ice-blue streaks, like Jareth remembered his mother having, though that wasn't why he liked them after a while. Archer had been nothing like his mother. Archer had been friendly.

And later on, of course, when it wasn't a boy who sat in the clearing or climbed trees but a young man with a young man's mind and soul…

Jareth climbed down and went straight to another tree across the clearing. He seized the lower branch almost with desperation.

The memories kept coming. They would lie together sometimes, a head on the other's shoulder, an arm draped over the other's waist. Warm breath on a neck or a cheek. Sometimes fingers stroking hair either black or silver-blond, because Jareth had joined in quite happily, seeing nothing wrong in it. Had touched his hair and traced his mouth and breathed softly in his ear as he cradled his cousin's head on his shoulder.

Perfectly natural. Archer always touched him gently. No force from those rough fingers.

The Goblin King bit back a curse as his foot almost slipped.

Those rough fingers. He could still feel them twist inside of him if he thought about it. When he wanted to torture himself. When he wanted to remind himself why it was that he hated Archer with all the sharpness of the betrayed.

Had Archer been evil even in those days? Jareth didn't think so. Those days had been even more sensual than the easy comraderie they had settled into. There had been nothing overtly sexual in the way Archer touched him then, surely. All the childhood memories tainted? Jareth had never wanted to think about it and make a decision.

"Does it matter," he finally said aloud, stopping for a moment to catch his breath, "He is dead and he betrayed me. Whether he began early or late is immaterial. It doesn't matter!"

He kept climbing. The memories kept coming.

The first lover they had shared was a fairy that Archer was bored with. A courtesan that had been up for the highest bidder. When the Heir to the Goblin King bid, that was as high as it got and his offer- for all the scandal surrounding the son of the Goblin King- had been accepted. Archer's advice had been right. She was beautiful, tempestuous, and very satisfying.

It had blown over in a matter of months and Jareth had passed her on with all his compliments to another. Archer had shared salacious jokes with him about her various oddities and affectations. It had been nice, to share an experience. What Jareth shared with his first consort was not something anyone else around him had ever understood. He couldn't very well talk about what he did with his father, even to the cousin who knew practically everything about him.

But Archer had known. Had seen it in his Hall of Mirrors. Had watched and sighed and touched himself to those scenes and Jareth felt his skin crawl thinking about it. Voyeurism was fine. Jareth didn't mind being watched. He hated that he had trusted Archer, had held him as high above everyone else in the known worlds and all the time Archer had been laughing behind his back, had been thinking and watching and knowing. Jareth went hot and cold just thinking about it.

Hot and cold. Archer's touch. Rough fingers but a gentle touch. Harsh punishments, sweet surprises, unconditional love but rigid possession- too many contradictions. Sharing lovers and yet it hadn't been an issue that essentially the men or women he was with had also been with his cousin. It hadn't registered. But the touches had. They hadn't said anything, though they joked about it, but they had touched. Carefully, of course, because Archer knew how Jareth felt about incest.

Before his father's death, Jareth wouldn't ever start a relationship with Archer because then it would be a betrayal to his father. He cared about Archer. To bed him would be to turn that love into a different kind. And Jareth had never once considered that his twisted relationship with his consort was worth jeopardizing. And after that, he had hated himself for the incest. Had felt dirt-encrusted and filthy for it. He'd spent an entire day in the bath trying to scrub the filth from his skin, screaming when it was never enough.

The Goblin King almost jumped down from the second tree and picked another, searching frantically until he saw one with a suitable challenge. He was moving before it had even settled properly in his brain.

And then Toby. Sweet, beautiful, innocent Toby with his fire-and-ice eyes and his wide smile. A boy waiting to be made a man, waiting for someone to sculpt him, like the finest piece of marble. And Jareth hadn't seen it, he knew that now. Had seen only a pretty boy who put up a fight and answered back. Prey, really, was what Toby had been then.

Jareth could picture Archer's hands on his husband, could well believe that the Archer he had seen in those seven fateful years had smiled in delight at the pain and the fear. He hated him, hated them and loved them and wished desperately that one of them were there with him so he could rest his head on their shoulder and just stop thinking! He had once told Archer everything he felt and shared every emotion with Toby as he felt it.

He had felt his firstborn when she'd been three months old!

Jareth dug his nails into the bark and ripped at it, straddling a branch as he banged his fists futilely against the thick trunk and swallowed down a scream.

And then that morning- that one beautiful, surreal morning- he'd chained his husband down because Toby needed to stop running away from what they both were and had forced it into his mind, forced him to say it all out loud so Toby could hear himself and believe it. And Arradine had kicked against his palm as Toby moved above him and Jareth hadn't ever thought it could get better or sweeter or more erotic than that.

He screamed and the sound echoed around the clearing like the wild call of a savage animal in a great deal of pain and it was only when he heard himself that Jareth realized his hands were bleeding.

He stopped, then, and looked down at the bleeding fingers and ripped nails.

And then Aidan. After so long, to open his body to someone else had been frightening. It had hurt but only because it meant that Jareth might fall to that same complete need that he'd once had. And while Toby was beautiful and sweet and innocent, Jareth hadn't ever wanted to feel that vulnerable again. But he had done it. He had got on hands and knees and let himself be taken and after that, what else was there that Toby hadn't taken?

Everything in those stubby-fingered hands. Jareth laughed down at his own hands, still such a gruesome sight. He couldn't help it. The difference between their hands had been so funny; it had been a joke between them. They had laughed together over it. And now Jareth was laughing alone, listening to the sound echo and wondering how horrified Toby would be over the ruination of his hands. And he couldn't stop laughing!

But then Archer… And this time it had been sexual. Jareth could remember everything, though his brain still sluggishly tried to bridge the gap between memories acquired during that loss of mind and the way that he normally thought. He remembered getting captured, the cold chains, his fear for his child and the way he had fought. Aidan had been so small then, his only means of safety his birthfather's fragile body. It was a very fragile body. Jareth had been vilely ill from the pregnancy and the kick of the black magic. Strong doses and then the hangover afterwards. And Archer had come to him, had soothed him and promised him and then the training had started and the dark shadow had come to him and touched him, but it had all been so gentle.

Jareth leaned forward to rest his hot forehead against the scarred wood.

"Very gentle," he mumbled, "And I couldn't help wanting it. So far away and my body kept wanting more." Whether he was speaking to himself or his dead lover, Jareth couldn't say.

So bit-by-bit he had ceded himself. Letting more and more of this dark shadow into him until, one horrible night, Archer had come to him and kissed him and touched him and begun to make love to him. Jareth had fought; of course he had, very hard too! But the bits of himself he had given away… Archer had traded his soul to command black magic to such a high degree. He had forced the issue, left the half-goblin wanting. Chained his hands, even, so he could get no release at all.

Not the worst of it, Jareth thought dully. Starvation next. The whip after that. Archer's mad dark eyes snapping at him. And without warning Archer would take his mind and tear it and tear into it until he went in further and further- a rape that lasted days until finally he could take no more because he had his child to think about and he hoped that Archer was not really this monster and he was scared and lost and Toby was so far away, so he had said 'yes' and 'please' and 'master'.

Jareth didn't like thinking about the rest. If that had been hell, then the next seven years was the hell that even the demons feared. And he had faced it. And loved it! In some sick,pathetic way that he couldn't understand, he remembered having loved it.

And now Aidan was all grown up, running his Kingdom. Arradine was carrying her second child and there would be someone there to hold her hair back when she felt ill and rub her back when she was nine months along.

For his second child, Jareth had borne all of that himself. With a monster to watch his pregnancy. How Aidan had managed to be born at all was mystery to him. But Aidan had been a healthy, placid baby. And then Ereditha and Jareth hoped and prayed that she would give Armand the chance their marriage deserved because the fairy adored her and their lives could only be the richer if she admitted that she felt the same. He remembered Toby inside of him and Ereditha inside of Toby, the both kept safe inside of him. He remembered worrying about the mortal and being unable to look at him without seeing the tear tracks on his face and the blood on his thighs, without seeing Archer's savage eyes and twisted smile and wondering how he could take those mad eyes for his own and rape his own husband.

Unable to stop seeing his own incest either.

The Goblin King wished himself down to the ground and sat with his back to the tree, cradling his injured hands close to his chest. How he was going to explain this to his children he would never know. And he wished that he hadn't done it because they deserved one day free from worry on his behalf or sorrow on their Dad's behalf.

But then parents had always mangled their children's lives. He grinned a manic smile as he magicked up a bowl of water and some bandages for his hands. It wouldn't be the first time and it wouldn't be the last.

He failed to notice a pair of blue eyes watching him from behind the curtain of shrub.


	6. Present

Author's Note: To be read directly after the last chapter, give or take a few minutes of bandaging.

Meanings:

Shasta- Portent, Sign.

Thera- fae for 'Little One' (male specific).

-------------------------------------------------

The bandages had been applied, if somewhat clumsily. Jareth tried to think of how best to explain it. One didn't just injure one's hands for no reason. And it wasn't a scrape or a splinter; this was fairly extensive damage and would need to be properly seen to as soon as he got back to the Castle.

The Goblin King emptied out the bowl of bloodied water and leaned back against the tree. He supposed he could always say he didn't remember. It would shut them up and they could speculate about it behind his back. He didn't want to think anymore in any case. He was tired. His head hurt.

The pair of blue eyes watched him from the shadows and moved just an inch closer.

"All so very useless," Jareth yawned. The half-goblin stretched and groaned when his hands began to throb. He whimpered as he cradled them closer to his chest. It was an animal sound, a whimper, very tiny and soft and pain-filled.

The shrub rustled and Jareth's head snapped up instantly, his pain forgotten in his instant suspicions. There were ghosts in his head and not all of them were pleasant. To hear someone unknown approaching was not promising. He shifted, almost rising because he wanted a look.

"Whoever it is," he called, "You might as well face me. I am unarmed and completely alone."

The shrub rustled again and a tiny shape seemed to take him at his word because it hopped out and then crouched down, whimpering as if in answer to him.

Jareth blinked in shock and stared.

The wolf cub wagged its tiny tail and crept forward a little more, snuffling.

The Goblin King still couldn't quite believe his eyes. A small, brown wolf cub. But there had never been any wolves in this part of the Goblin Kingdom. What was a cub doing out here? And it didn't look like a mountain wolf. Those were rangy and thin, with long snouts and dark coats. None of them had the round, rolly, fuzzy look of this one. Though it was a baby, so that might explain things.

The cub seemed to take courage at his continued lack of response and bowled along to land two feet from him. Like a dog, it's tongue dripped out and it yipped.

Jareth blinked again until something caught his eye. He moved quickly, the pain in his hands forgotten as he shot forward suddenly and grabbed the little wolf cub by the scruff of its neck, hauling it close. The wolf cub protested but surprisingly didn't bite him or growl. It just tried to run away and then it whimpered and crouched in his arms, shivering all over its heavy, furry body.

Blue eyes.

What the devil was a brown wolf cub doing with bright blue eyes?

Jareth looked closer, trying to find something that would explain it. Why? What was this? Why was there… memory shook so hard through him that he dropped the little thing into his lap and pressed back against the tree trunk, eyes wide in the dark sockets. It couldn't be. Impossible.

It was almost as if…

"Toby?" It sounded ridiculous even when he said out loud. Toby had been a fully-grown wolf in his animus. Not a cub.

The wolf cub didn't respond. But then it's aura was…

Jareth hesitantly held out his hand and the little thing backed away. But it didn't run. It cringed again and yipped. He put out the hand and let it hover just within touching reach. The cub didn't run. He petted it. The cub shook its head but bumped against his palm playfully.

Jareth was finding this all very hard to believe. Wolves did not have bright blue eyes. It was impossible. Toby had been the only wolf to ever have blue eyes, and Toby was so dead there was no way that he would be parading through the Underground as a wolf, never mind as a wolf cub. But that didn't detract from the fact that he had a wolf cub with blue eyes sitting in his lap and panting peacefully as he petted it.

Two hours later, his children came back with the last few rays of sunlight, out of breath and apologetic for being away so long. Jareth was sitting back where they had left their things in the middle of the clearing, his boots back on and his jacket slung casually over his shoulders for warmth. He held the cub with one hand and pulled gently on its pointed ears with the other.

"A wolf cub?" Ereditha eagerly held out her hands for it, naturally wanting to examine the little thing at her leisure, "Where did you find it?"

"Caught in a bramble," Jareth lied promptly. He held up his bandaged right hand in silent demonstration. The cub suddenly growled and yipped before snuggling further into his arm. "Careful, Ereditha. I think he's scared of the whole lot of you cooing at him."

Fiorle and Aidan backed away to their horses, who also seemed most interested in this new little bundle of fur. "Those bandages look excessive for a few scratches and thorn pricks," Aidan remarked under his breath.

The fairy nodded. "Are you accusing His Majesty of lying to us all?"

"Yes."

"You might be right this time."

"Damn it, I wish he wouldn't do this! Where did that wolf come from? And why are his hands hurt?"

Fiorle shrugged helplessly, his dark face drawn with anxious concern. "I am afraid I cannot answer your questions, Aidan. But the wolf cub looks innocent enough. No strange markings that I can see. No collar or brand. Just a wolf cub."

"Father…" Arradine took a closer look. "Father, why does this cub have blue eyes?"

All four stopped short and then Ereditha and Arradine backed away. Aidan's hand tightened on his mare's reins and he stifled whatever instinct he had to tear the animal away and chase it back to the undergrowth.

"Father?"

Jareth bit his lip and lifted the little cub to a better position in his arms. It was yapping frantically for no real reason. "Quiet, Shasta. I'm afraid I don't know, Arradine. I just took him out of a bramble bush."

"Shasta?" Aidan echoed unbelievingly, "You named the wolf cub already?"

"He needs a name, Aidan."

"You are not keeping him!"

"Aidan!" Jareth had had enough of the dramatics for now. His hands hurt and he was tired from his recent spate of hysteria. The cub was a soothing weight in his arms, heavy but small, radiating warmth and vulnerability. It made him remember that he wasn't in the habit of allowing people to question him.

The Prince shut his mouth and looked obstinate.

"If you have all finished being afraid of a baby animal because of the colour of his eyes, Shasta and I are going back to the Castle," the Goblin King said slowly. "You may leave those things, Fiorle. I'll take them with me. I'll see you three at home." He shot a quick glance at the gathered picnic paraphernalia that lay innocently on the grass and it vanished. He cast one last, angry look around and followed it, the wolf cub clasped tight to his chest.

Shasta didn't like apparating. He freely admitted it. He growled and wriggled and finally leapt out of the warm safety of those arms to go and hide under a table.

Jareth raised an eyebrow and watched him, hands on his hips as the wolf glared at him with a petulant whine.

"You do know," the half-goblin broached, "That there was no other way to travel? I could not fly away and leave you behind. I had no mount to ride back with you. And I don't think you would have stayed with Aidan or Fiorle, would you?"

The cub didn't move.

"Though, now that I think of it, you weren't properly introduced, were you?"

Shasta yawned suddenly, apparently surprising even himself with such a blatant disregard for good manners. One did not yawn in the King's face! It was not done! He sat down and contemplated such a thing. He might even have blushed.

"Poor thing," the King crooned, "Come here. Come on out." He sat down on the floor and held out his hand. Shasta hopped out from under the table and stuck his nose into Jareth's palm. "Tired? Let's get you somewhere to sleep, then. Come along."

It had been a long time since Jareth had done this. He'd never really been in a position to put any of his children to bed, and Toby would have bitten him if he'd ever tried to baby him in this way. There were limits to what even the mortal could endure. But this wolf cub was just a baby, and from sheer lack of other options, it seemed to have adopted Jareth as its parent. For what, the Goblin King couldn't say. But the wolf cub whined and nipped at his fingers as he put it on the couch, crying until Jareth picked him back up with a sigh and sat down with him. Aidan found him like that, with a small ball of fuzz curled up his lap.

The Prince watched unnoticed from the doorway for a while, watched while those white hands stroked lovingly over the pointed ears and sleek coat, pulled gently on the fine hairs at the very tip of the curving tail. Watched as an unknown idea took shape behind downturned mismatched eyes.

"He is a cute little thing," Aidan offered awkwardly.

Jareth started- for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks- and blinked away the growing fire. "He is," he murmured, "Shasta. It suits him, do you not think?"

"It does. Father, I am going to say something and you are not going to like it, but I ask that you trust me just a little." Aidan waited for a minute but the silence seemed to encourage him to go on. "I'd like to take a look at your hands. I won't ask what happened and no, I don't buy your story about brambles. If they were that bad, Shasta would have a few cuts himself. I only want to make sure they don't get infected."

Jareth thought about that. His fingers did hurt. It would be nice to have them treated. But if Aidan took one look at the real injuries, he would instantly want to know what had happened. Aidan had also promised not to ask. Could he trust him? Well, Aidan was his son. He trusted his Kingdom to Aidan, why not his hands? "Alright. Let me just put Shasta down. Hush, thera. Go back to sleep." He banked him in with a cushion and left him to sleep on the couch, uncoiling tiredly from the cool brocade to stand up. He followed Aidan out of the small bedchamber to the nearest bathroom. And then he docilely held out his hands with his blankest expression.

Aidan unwrapped them, but apart from a soft gasp at the bruises and cuts, he showed no reaction. "Put them in here," he ordered, setting a wide bowl of warm water on the countertop, "And keep them there. I just have to get something."

"Get my sleeves out of the way first, would you?"

"Alright."

Long fingers that curled around and lifted, warm skin and the light scrape of nails. Jareth would have noticed it at one time. Now it barely registered that Aidan was standing so close to him. He was still going over the plan that he had in his head.

The wolf cub could only have come from one place that he was aware of- the Labyrinth. And there was something strange about the little thing that made Jareth think it was important. And that aura. How many wolves would have that strong magical aura around it? There were only two reasons for that- the Labyrinth or the ability to do magic. He could think of ten people instantly that would laugh if he suggested that a wolf had the ability to do magic. Animals couldn't. It was just a fact of nature. Even dragons couldn't do magic; neither could unicorns. But the one thing that dragons and unicorns- and now this little wolf cub- had in common was that they all had the auras of capable magic users. They had magic. They just couldn't use it.

So the wolf cub had an aura. Jareth could think of ten other people who would dismiss the whole thing as being charming, but not worthy of this fevered interest he seemed to have taken. Would they think the same when he told them the aura was blue? Almost the exact same blue that his dead husband used to have? Not quite the same, of course, and that was a pity because that was the one point that made Jareth waver. The colours of auras could be duplicated, especially if they were close family members. Jareth didn't like to think of it, but Toby had run wild in the Labyrinth for nights without number, especially on full-moon nights. Something might have happened if one of the wolverines had been in heat.

He snorted and without meaning to, he smacked the water out of the bowl, as if he were striking out at the very concept of his elf cheating on him in his animus.

"Stop throwing the water around," Aidan rebuked, "I need a clean space for the bandages."

"Hurry up," Jareth snapped, "My skin is wrinkling."

Aidan got his revenge. He picked up each hand and began to pat the water off. He was not quite as gentle as he should have been.

Jareth winced and almost smiled. His son had a temper and no mistake. "I was thinking about Shasta," he offered peaceably.

Aidan barely looked up but the patting grew gentler. "Yes? What about him?"

"He has an aura," Jareth began. And explained things, as best as he could. After all, if he were right, someone would need to know why he was about to launch into this mad brained scheme of him. In saner flashes of times, Jareth listened to himself and wondered just how desperate he had become.

"You think Dad's come back as a wolf cub?" Aidan paused in the midst of applying the healing ointment to shake his head in a daze. "It sounds… unreasonable."

"Have you listened to nothing I said?"

"Bring that hand back here and stop interrupting me! Yes, I have listened to you. I'm not saying I don't understand your theory, but I am saying that the links you draw are a little weak. After all, blue is a fairly common aura. Especially the shade you describe. And second, this wolf cub cannot be Dad because it was certainly born before Dad even died. It cannot possibly be reincarnation because then Dad would have been living as two separate beings."

"It is possible."

"Only if you are a norfidd. And even they have to choose to operate as either one of their beings at any given time. You know that."

Jareth sighed and shrugged. "The wolf cub came to me, Aidan. Shasta found me," he said plainly, "And he seems to listen to me. I know there are factors in this whole situation that I cannot explain, but Shasta is not just some wolf cub I picked out of the Labyrinth. He has a purpose. A reason. I just have to find it."

"Well, at least your hands are ready for whatever adventure you have planned for tomorrow."

Jareth laughed and clasped his son on the shoulder. "You mother me far too much," he said ruefully, "I do wish you would stop."

"You never had a mother."

Ah. Jareth's hand tightened as he leaned forward sympathetically. "I never really felt the loss, you know. Don't make it out to be more than it was."

"Then why do I have the feeling that if I don't talk to you now, I won't ever say everything that I've always planned to say to you?" Aidan looked him straight in the eyes for this, serious and stern, "You're going to leave, aren't you?"

"Leave? Leave where?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just know that you are not going to be around very much longer."

Jareth shrugged and gestured to the door. "Well, I am going to leave this bathroom behind. Care to join me for a drink?"

"Wouldn't Shasta complain?"

"Are you jealous of a wolf, my son?"

The two shared the grin and made their way to the nearest question mark door. Jareth went first, because he didn't think to do otherwise, and took them both to the large feasting hall. There hadn't been a feast in years, here. Jareth still liked his privacy and they hadn't exactly opened the Castle up to a lot of guests. The Griffith Chair was waiting for him, stretching out clawed hands to draw him down into its recesses.

Brandy was the drink of choice; Jareth knew Aidan liked the brandy. So he opened the bottle, poured two glasses and held one up in a toast. "To the future King of the Goblins," he smirked.

Aidan's mouth twisted into a mocking grin but he drank to it too. "When will you go?" he asked casually.

This was more serious than Jareth had thought and the Goblin King put down his glass and frowned. "Aidan, I am not planning to go anywhere."

The young part-goblin looked down at his hands clenched around the brandy glass and then carefully he loosened them, putting the glass down as well and leaning back to look up at the ceiling. He stared in meditative fascination as a carved gargoyle head that bared its teeth at him. "The Labyrinth is waiting for you," he said heavily, "The Spirit wants to know when you will go to it."

Jareth choked on the liquid burning down his throat and dropped the glass. He coughed for a moment and then spluttered, "What?"

"I dreamt of the Spirit a few days ago," Aidan repeated, "It wants to know why you have not ended your business here and gone to it."

"The… but it hasn't… oh. Oh, I see." Jareth was lost in thought, scrubbing absently at the wet patch on his knee where the crystal glass had connected on its way to the floor. "How long ago?"

"Two nights, maybe three."

"And it wants me."

"You are going, then."

Jareth waved the question away impatiently and thought about it. Going. Going was easy. But where was he going and why? Why would the Spirit speak to Aidan and not to him? He didn't believe he had been blocking its power in his sleep. There was reason for all this; a reason he couldn't quite see just yet. It should be obvious, he knew this much. Or else the Spirit would have explained it in some way. And why Aidan? Did it want to warn him? Was it because Arradine and Ereditha had rival powers that were hostile to the Labyrinth? Could be. The Labyrinth was touchy, that way.

"I'm going to bed."

"Yes? Oh. Goodnight, Aidan."

"Goodnight." Aidan waited for a few seconds, hoping his parent might decide to talk things through. But Jareth was locked in one of his reflective pieces and Aidan knew better than to interrupt him while he was puzzling something out. Particularly when it involved magic. So he went up to bed. On his way, he met a small shape that slunk passed him and vanished in the direction of the empty hall. He shook his head and didn't even bother to undress when he got to his bed. He fell in, exhausted and tired and melancholy.

Shasta was important. He could see that. And after this business with the Labyrinth, he thought he knew exactly what was going to happen: the Spirit was about to make sure the legend had a fitting end.


	7. Future

Author's Note: This is the last actual chapter. I hope it measures up to standards. It was so hard to write, but it needed to be done. Thank you all for your patience with me, and thank you all for your kind reviews. I only hope you got as much out of this fiction as I did.

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The wolf cub was thereby adopted straight into the family.

Aidan couldn't understand it. There was something about that cub that made him panic. There was too much he didn't know about it. Shasta's name was indeed well picked. The Labyrinth would not throw this little cub and the Goblin King together unless there was some need. And since Jareth was more affected by Shasta's presence than Shasta was by Jareth's, Aidan took it for granted that this was something concerning the future of the Goblin King.

And the future of the Goblin King was beginning to worry him.

Shasta seemed almost a good thing for Jareth. The half-goblin stopped disappearing for hours on end; stopped forgetting things in his misery. Moreover, he stopped shirking his duty. Jareth had never been the most enthusiastic King in the Underground, but he seemed to become obsessed with getting back into the habit of running his Kingdom.

Aidan wasn't completely upset. It was a bigger burden on him without the use of magic and experience, but it left him in a strange dilemma.

And as if the return of the Goblin King wasn't strange enough, Jareth seemed much easier in his own skin. He abandoned that listless stoop and the energy returned to him once more. He looked healthy- or as healthy as Jareth was capable of looking- and he spoke with that peculiar decisiveness that had all but vanished from his voice in the past month or so.

And Shasta seemed to be responsible for it.

A little ball of fur and sharp teeth, with a perpetually wet tongue and cool nose, blue-eyed and the very picture of wolfish innocence was responsible for the Goblin King's pain lessening.

Aidan didn't believe it for a second. It couldn't be possible. Even if his father did believe that the wolf cub was some kind of link to his dead husband, surely it wouldn't bring about such a drastic change? And beyond the eyes and the aura, there was very little to support the theory that the wolf cub was anything at all to do with one Toby Williams.

Of course, the goblins were all very willing to believe it.

Shasta got more warm milk than he knew what to do with. Fiorle found the wolf cub happily tipping the milk over the carpet and jumping up and down in it. The fairy had, of course, laughed about it and been enchanted. Aidan wasn't enchanted. He admitted that the cub was an engaging bundle of life, but if Shasta thought for one moment that making friends would blind him to whatever it was the cub was doing in the Castle, then the baby wolf could think again. Aidan didn't get blinded very easily.

Jareth did, though, and Aidan worried for that. It wasn't his father's fault precisely, but the half-goblin was getting old, was worn down by the rigours of his life and was grieving. All three factors made him very susceptible to any bit of hope that came his way, no matter how ridiculous or slight. And Aidan had seen those hands and what his father was capable of doing to himself. All in all, he would have excused Jareth for the cowardice in taking his own life, but hurting himself because he hurt? That was by far worse than anything else, and Aidan didn't begrudge him the peace that Shasta seemed to bring him.

So he said nothing. He played with the cub when Shasta tried to climb his leg and didn't comment when the cub showed signs of needing to be housetrained. Shasta was a wild breed after all. Jareth eventually got him into a system of taking him out at regular intervals during the day. A good thing, Aidan admitted, because it took Jareth out as well and gave him time to relax.

Shasta did relax him. Even if the Goblin King was not the type to hug a baby animal and exclaim loudly over its many sweetnesses, he was no less attached to it. Aidan saw the way that those mismatched eyes would leave whatever work was at hand for a momentary glance down at the ball of fur that never left his side. He saw the way that Jareth absentmindedly fed the cub bits of food at the table, completely unconsciously. And he knew for a fact that the cub slept in his father's bed.

Aidan couldn't even talk to his sisters about it! Jareth had firmly and gently explained that they had duties in other parts of the Underground that needed their attention.

"You have families," he had pointed out, "And even you have to return to them. My doors are open to you, but do you not think it is time you went home?"

Which was a very telling statement because home had always been the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth. Where else would home be? But it wasn't home any more. At least not to Arradine and Ereditha and Aidan was growing restless with nothing to do. So much of his life had gone into assisting his father in order to leave him free to spend time with his elf and now Toby was dead and Jareth seemed to have some desire to finish not only the backlog of work but the work that might conceivably need to be done in the next two years.

Why?

Aidan couldn't think of a single thing to explain it all. Except that Jareth had some kind of plan in mind. A plan that included Shasta because he had heard Jareth talking to the cub when passing the library and that deep voice had said, "Not long now, Shasta. Stop growing restless. I promise we will get on with the plan."

The plan. Of course there was a plan! Aidan knew there was a plan. The Spirit came to him every night and refused to answer his questions. The last time it had talked about the weather! Aidan didn't see anything interesting in discussing the hot days and warm nights. He would have preferred to talk about Jareth's change in attitude. And Shasta. And why he felt that the wolf cub was a portent of something he didn't want to happen.

And eventually the Spirit said something he could understand- "I think he wants to speak to you, my Prince. Go now. He should be awake."

And Aidan woke up. He stared at his ceiling for a long pause and then rolled over to glance at the window. The sky was dark. It would be a full-moon night in another week or so and he was caught by the whispers in the breeze. Even the air seemed to know that something was going to happen.

He got out of bed and changed his trousers for the ones thrown haphazardly onto a chair. And then added a shirt and soft shoes that slipped on easily and didn't need to be fastened. Elven shoes. The Spirit wanted him to meet his father at dead of night when everyone else was asleep? Aidan hoped fervently the Spirit knew what it was doing. Jareth might have stopped stiffening around him but that was during the day. What about at night? Would his father still… Aidan didn't want to think about it. It was hard enough having to act normally and as if he didn't notice it.

Corridors seemed to lengthen in the dark and corners grew strange shapes that threatened to jump out and wrap themselves around him. Aidan ignored them.

Jareth wasn't in the library; he wasn't in the Adviser's Room. He wasn't in one of the smaller offices the clerks used or even in his artrooms at the top level of the Castle. Aidan took the opportunity to look around. Jareth hadn't done anything for years, what with Toby fading so fast and the few things that only he could handle calling for his attention. But while the shelves remained in their ramshackle order and the paintings stayed stacked up against the walls, the cleared tables were not as clear as he remembered them. A book lay open on one of them.

Aidan took a look. Written in his father's elegant sprawl, the pages seemed to be nothing so much as a written confession. Pages worth of thoughts and opinions and ironic comments. A written account of his life, too, in all its brutal, crude, plainly stated honesty. Aidan didn't dare look too closely. It was too private. The book was almost finished and there were only another thirty or so pages to go. The history seemed to end at the day his dad died.

Aidan put it back hurriedly as he had found it, refusing to intrude without invitation. He left the room and went down the stairs, wondering where his father might be.

He knocked on the bedroom door and heard the sound of cloth and the creak of the bed. Silently chastising himself for being such a fool, he was now forced to wait while his father opened the door and blinked sleepless eyes at him.

"Yes?"

Aidan racked his brains to think of how best to say it.

Jareth didn't seem to need an explanation because he held the door open with a small smile and guilelessly invited his son in. "It gets cold standing outside a room," he remarked drolly, "Sit down. I recommend the bed because that chair is broken and needs to be mended."

Aidan was definitely on edge. His Father would never have invited him into the room, let alone into his bed. But Jareth sat down and waited. Aidan joined him.

"Were you asleep?"

"Not really," the Goblin King said, "Shasta was… is something wrong?" That long-fingered white hand was already back to stroking thick brown fur.

Aidan eyed the wolf cub and abandoned him as a topic not suitable for late night conversation. "I couldn't sleep," he lied.

Jareth could see it was a lie. Aidan didn't lie easily. He clasped his hands tight in his lap and looked down at the floor, very much as if he wished he could bite the words back in shame. And sometimes, like this time, Aidan didn't bother to look as if he wanted to be believed. The Goblin King sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, willing the words to come to him.

"I had a dream," Aidan continued, "Which is why I couldn't go back to sleep. The Spirit said you wanted to talk to me."

"I? No, luv, nothing that couldn't wait until morning." White fingers crept up to the golden braid and absently began to stroke. Very like what the other hand had been doing to Shasta. "You are sure about the Spirit?"

"The Spirit of the Labyrinth has been plaguing my dreams and talking about the weather," Aidan huffed, "I think I would know when it finally says something of interest."

"Ah." Jareth removed his hand and then realized that he couldn't lie very easily either. Not to Aidan, and only because he didn't want to be remembered for lies and half-truths. "And you saw nothing wrong with the weather?"

"It was the weather. The days are hot and the nights are warm. The crops needed it."

Shasta sat up and yawned before launching himself into Jareth's lap.

"Thera, stop making a nuisance of yourself," Jareth rebuked, pushing him off and glaring sternly, "And no. I do not want to play. I have more important things to do right now."

Which made Aidan feel a little more cheerful because yes, in a way he was a little jealous of the wolf cub. Whatever he remembered about the time in Archer's palace had been lonely and regimented. Jareth hadn't always been around, even though when he was Aidan could have asked for no one more caring, more gentle. And then later there had been a complete about-face! What was a six-year-old to think when his father growled and snapped and ordered people around, studiously avoiding anything to do with his previously adored son?

Blue eyes hardened a little and then softened when the cub looked thoroughly miserable at being chased away. It stuck its tail between its legs and slipped off the bed, padding away to the basket it had never gotten around to sleeping in.

"He looks unhappy," Aidan gestured, "Perhaps we should talk in the morning."

"If it was important enough to bring you out of your sleep, it is important enough to discuss now. And leave Shasta be. He will recover in a few minutes and fall asleep again. You do know that the Spirit would never just enter your dreams for a chat? And it has never entered anyone else's dreams since it chose me, so I would carefully examine its meanings were I you."

"I know about the Labyrinth, Father. I have read all the definite works and done all the research and made all the notes. But so far it hasn't said anything worth… noting…" Aidan frowned at a sudden thought.

"The weather is not particularly unimportant, you know," Jareth advised, "Especially if the Spirit was trying to tell you something without really voicing it. Think, Aidan. What would be so important about the weather?"

They talked long into the night. Because yes, the weather was important because Jareth's emotional stability could impact on the weather and yes, the hot days and warm nights meant that there was something positive driving the Goblin King's actions again. And they talked about the large yield of crop that was predicted for the year and the sense of anticipation in the air and the way that the dwarves- and even the goblins- could sense certain patterns in nature that told them something drastic was about to happen. They talked about the deaths of those they had known, from Toby to Sarah to Hoggle to Brennan. They talked about discipline and what it meant to be the sovereign of an entire land. And they spoke about romance, and Aidan's lack of it and Jareth's experience of it. They spoke of opening the Castle to an enormous dance that would live forever in history and to what would follow in the future.

The next day, Jareth met with Aidan in the library and considerately didn't mention that the younger male's eyes were heavy and that he looked sad. He took him swiftly through the work he had completed and then took Shasta out for a long walk to the Labyrinth while Aidan feverishly began the tasks that he had agreed to do.

The City was to be renovated. Roofs and building structures were to be repaired. Furniture was to be mended and the streets cleaned up. The garbage people in the garbage heaps beyond the City walls would be paid to clean the area up in anticipation of visiting dignitaries.

When Jareth returned, he was carrying Shasta. The little cub was whining mournfully and wriggling. It was only when Aidan shut the door that Jareth let him go. And even then Shasta stared at the door for an hour and yapped in wistful pleading, turning large blue eyes back to the half-fae standing so silently watching him.

Aidan compared the two expressions and he saw how his father began to falter, to soften and look doubtful and saw him twitch as if about to go to Shasta and to the door. Aidan cleared his throat and quietly began to talk. It didn't really matter what he said, just so long as he gave his father a reason to stay. Shasta went to sleep there, curled up with his nose touching the door. Jareth picked him up and cuddled him, murmuring something in his ear that Aidan pretended not to hear.

Arradine and Ereditha were contacted and they were held to secrecy. Aidan could only explain so much, helpless to really give them the answers to 'why' and only able to tell them 'how'. Jareth put up with the tantrums and the yelling and the sharp stabs of guilt that Arradine saw fit to throw his way in her frustration. He put up with all of it. He didn't take Shasta to the Labyrinth again for the rest of the month.

And finally it was all complete.

Glittering throngs of people wafted elegantly around the Castle's ballroom, vibrant voices tuned to the lowest register as they mingled. Ereditha and Armand attended in formal status, with their retinue and their pomp and splendour.

Aidan pried his eyes off his former love, trying hard not to see the way the light fell on his unguarded face. He was older, now. The Fairy King was not some secret crush any more, even if he still moved with unusual beauty. That was for Ereditha to notice now. Aidan yielded it gladly to his sister and wished her luck. He went back to greeting guests and creating a suitably welcoming atmosphere.

Arradine was already in the Castle, but she entered only on Zaraith's arm, looking a vision in the traditional robes of a draconite, the silver circlet resting easily upon her brow. Even tucked like a fragile porcelain figurine against Zaraith's grand figure, she exuded power. As was fitting. Jareth's trick was always to look more powerful than he might sometimes feel and Arradine was his daughter.

Hergoh smiled at the young prince and made her way to him as soon as it was polite.

"This is a wonderful night for a dance," she said, orange eyes crinkling as she smiled.

Aidan took her arm and spent a rare three minutes with someone he actually liked, chattering about the things that had always interested the two of them. Hergoh was most obliging in taking his mind off the terrible business of the evening.

He left her only when three strange people walked into the ballroom. Three people he had heard vague, disquieting things about- the elves. Three of them. One with silver streaking his red hair and the other with dark hair and a lined face. The third was a female of rare beauty and grace, even now, looking as old as she seemed to be. Warm brown hair with chestnut tints; grey eyes that said they saw in ways that even Hergoh found fascinating Gwenél, if he had her name right. The elf maiden. No secrets between siblings and he knew everything that Arradine had to tell him about Gwenél.

Jareth met all three with a smile. Arradine followed close behind and Aidan found himself not wanting to meet Gwenél. Jareth was certainly going through with it if he was making his peace with Her. Not that Aidan was really fooled. He suspected his father never would forgive the affair, but then again… the elves were the last known of their clans. Jareth had a debt of honour owed to them for their protection of his mate and his child. No matter what vice Toby had committed at the Place of Time, that debt still held. And the Goblin King could pretend to forgive, if only because of Lord Pelinlas.

But the terror could not be staved off for long. Jareth was growing restless and his temper was not equal to waiting another minute more. He shouted for silence and the music stopped. People turned to look, quite expecting something peculiar to happen because this was the Goblin Kingdom and the monarchy here was notorious for its sudden and shocking news.

The evening was no less shocking. Ereditha and Arradine stayed with their chosen husbands, but Aidan went to Jareth, took his arm and leaned into his side. "Are you sure?" he asked one last time.

"This is the way it will be," Jareth whispered back.

"Alright. Tell them."

The Goblin King settled himself, preening like a peacock as he thought about what he was about to say. Aidan thought of how they would look in the eyes of their audience. Both of the same height, similar features and the same regal air of bearing. But such different people. Jareth with his mismatched eyes and his cynical smirk, with his fantastical array of black and green, hair loose around his face. Aidan was different. Long blond hair bound severely back from his blue eyes, his simple black suit austere where Jareth's was brazen. Too different. And he didn't think he could do it.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and acquaintances," Jareth said, "It gives me great pleasure to extend the poor benefits of my hospitality to all of you." There was a general murmur of laughter as people snuck a look around the opulent ballroom. "But I have brought you here under false pretences."

"Never say there is no wine," some brash young thing yelled out.

Jareth smirked but shook his head. "Wine enough and more than that, my young friend," he called back, "In fact, someone get him a drink or he might not let me finish." This time even Aidan smiled and almost laughed at the good-humoured exchange.

But the time for joking was over and Jareth was itching to finish this. Soon. So soon and he would be free. He was almost there; so close he could taste it. Shasta was waiting for him in his room, panting and ready. The wind howled around the stone Castle and there was a full moon in the sky.

"As you all know, my consort died exactly two months ago." The room went silent. "I will not bore you with my feelings on the matter. I will do no such thing and frankly it is no concern of yours. But it has made me think. And I have asked you all here to present my decision." He waited and looked at his daughters first, his heart breaking as he saw theirs break too. "I am relinquishing my throne."

There was pandemonium, just as Jareth knew there would be. He savoured the moment, smiling quietly to himself as everyone turned to the other and asked loudly what he meant. Aidan moved even closer to him and Jareth lifted his hands to take the medallion from around his neck.

People quietened down with this serious gesture.

"I give this," he said shortly, as if they hadn't just interrupted him, "To my son and heir. The Kingdom is his to do with as he wishes. I know he will be all that his people could wish for. I hope and pray it is not a burden, but a blessing to him."

It was perhaps more sombre and romantic a speech than he was used to giving, but Jareth thought it was justified. The brief flash of something more than memory showed him a small fire-blond just over Aidan's shoulder, wide mouth smiling and arms folded in ironic amusement.

'_You always were the drama queen, my King. But I think he will know what you mean to say.'_

It vanished as suddenly as it had arrived. Jareth placed the medallion around Aidan's neck and took a step back. "The King of the Goblins," he announced, bowing.

Confused but trusting, the assembly followed his lead. Aidan touched the medallion and lifted his head higher as he was acknowledged by the most important people in his realm. His father lifted his head first and smirked. "Let's hope neither of your sisters decide to go to war with you," he laughed.

Aidan chuckled too and then Ereditha and Arradine came forward to pay their respects, both as sisters and as rulers of other countries. Armand's eyes danced in amusement as he greeted the new Goblin King with a dour word of welcome. Aidan tossed it right back at him with just as much fire and spirit. There would be no nerves from this one, Jareth noted. Proud, he watched as most of the guests clustered around his son. The bright blond head could barely be seen.

He caught Arradine's eyes and nodded briefly to her. She glared at him, unforgiving and stiff. But then there was still time and Jareth was hopeful. Toby hadn't raised her to be vengeful.

He went to his suite, back to the blue and silver furnishings with the windows thrown open to let in the air. Fleet clouds ran across the moon, playing games with the shadows. The Labyrinth glittered with lines of bronze and silver and Jareth was tempted. So tempted. Even Shasta tried to tumble out of the window to get to the Labyrinth and Jareth put him down with a vivid laugh at the adrenaline that fed his blood.

He sat down on the bed, stretching his legs out and gazing around. Aidan would have it on the morrow and Jareth hoped there would be love and happiness for his son in this room. No matter if it was with a male or female, he hoped that Aidan would find someone that meant more to him than Armand had. The boy deserved it. He hoped that there would be a Toby in his son's life and he somehow got the feeling that there would be.

Still unable to believe it, he reached up a hand to touch his chest and undid the buttons while he was at it. Kicking off his boots and throwing off his jacket. But the medallion was gone. Gone after so many long and painful years trapped by its memories and its heavy responsibilities. No more of that. Tomorrow was the start of eternity.

He picked up the book and wrote his last entry. He told them about his impressions of the dance, about his surprise at how peaceful the room was. He hadn't noticed it before, what with all the ghosts and memories of times passed. It was a beautiful room. He told them that he loved them.

He had to cramp his handwriting a bit to fit in a few, last, precious sentences. And then he scrawled his name at the end in large, fanciful writing and drew a quick sketch of a cat for Ereditha. She always had loved them.

"All done, Shasta," he whispered, stroking his tiny guide's head, "I'm done. We leave tomorrow. You know the way, don't you? Will he be there? Will he be alive? I miss him so much, Shasta, promise me he will be there."

The cub whined and licked his fingers. The marks were gone, faded. Those white hands were as good as new. Jareth curled his long legs up under him and lay down, closing his eyes so he could better remember some of the best and worst of his life experiences. He held Shasta close, the warmth chasing the pain away, the nose tucked neatly under his chin. Not Toby, but so similar.

And Jareth was hopeful of meeting Toby again somewhere.


	8. Epilogue

The Goblin King was waiting below when Jareth emerged, pale and resolute. The sun was not up yet, but the day already promised to be perfect. Jareth suspected that it was Aidan's way of telling him things they didn't vocalize.

So he took him by the shoulders and drew him close, lifting a hand to reverently cup the back of that blond head. Loosening the bright gold hair and combing his fingers through it for just a few seconds. Remembering the little boy and the youth. Remembering just how much he loved him.

"I love you," he whispered, "I always will. And I know you will be the best King our worlds have ever seen. Better than I could ever be."

"What was it that Harvey used to say?" Aidan chuckled, "You will be a hard act to follow?" He sobered up a moment later. "It hurt watching him die, Father. It hurt even worse when Cassie remarried."

"Cassie was too young to spend her life alone," Jareth soothed, "And I know it hurts to watch someone die when you want them only to live. I have to go. You know that, don't you? I won't sit by and pretend to be of some use. I have played my part. My best contribution to this world was sensation. And the three of you. The sensation may live or die as it likes. You three will always survive. And yes, I already know your doubts because I know you. It isn't really that hard, Aidan. You just kick a few goblins and give a few orders. Simple."

"Father!"

"What?"

The brown was already fading from that eye, Aidan realized. More hazel, now, than brown. The Labyrinth's power was waning from Jareth's system. No longer the Goblin King, then. Aidan wondered how long before his own eyes began to shift colour to show off the familiar mismatched mark of favour. "You are irrepressible," he said severely.

"Still mothering me, Aidan?"

Shasta chose that moment to give one loud, imperious bark. The two followed his look to three more figures that crept from the door. Jareth nodded to Arradine and Ereditha and hugged them both. Dressed simply in blue shirt and brown breeches, he looked like any other comfortable person from the Goblin Kingdom. Or he might have, if he hadn't the same arrogance and cruel line to his mouth that the goblins still remembered and feared.

The third figure hung back.

Jareth smiled slightly and held out his hand to Fiorle. "Thank you," he said simply, knowing it would be enough.

The fairy bowed, deep and reverent and respectful. "For as long as you are in my sight, you will still be the King of the Goblins, Your Majesty," he said, "I refuse to call you by a lesser title."

"Call me what you like, Fiorle. I take it you will serve Aidan as you served me."

"Better," Fiorle said with a lopsided grin.

Jareth clasped his hand one last time and then sighed at the sky. "The Labyrinth awaits," he said.

They walked in silence and Jareth had one moment to wonder idly what bird or animal form would prove to be Aidan's favourite. He wondered what Ereditha's children would look like and whether Armand would eventually just ask her outright to bond with him or end the marriage. He hoped Arradine would always be as happy as she seemed to be. And he wondered about his Kingdom. He wondered if the goblins would always oppose progress and whether Wellis would handle the fairies as well as Hoggle had. He shook his head over the remembered run-ins with Hoggle.

The City was deserted. People were asleep in the street from the loud drinking and revelry of the night before. It wasn't everyday that a King abdicated, or when another King ascended. No one would ever question Aidan's right to take the throne and a sudden unexpected thrill shivered down Jareth's spine as he realized that Aidan wouldn't feel ashamed of his Kingship, would not feel confused and dirty and cheapened. Aidan would have his innocence, or what was left of it, and he would have his freedom.

The Labyrinth loomed with its cold stone and its dark crevices. Jareth stopped, wondering at the unknown and yearning for what he hoped he would find at the other end.

"Please don't go."

Arradine. That small, timid, painful voice belonged to his firstborn? Jareth whirled around and hugged her fiercely as the tears came. He didn't know what waited for him in the Labyrinth. Shasta could not tell him and the Spirit would not answer his call. There could be death. There could be long years spent hidden in some forgotten chasm. All he knew was that it was fitting. He held his daughter close and reached out for Ereditha when that young lady decided to succumb too. Held them close and told them all the pretty lies he could think of. Damn whatever ideal of honesty he had hoped to be remembered as. He hadn't lived an honest day in his life! Why begin at his end?

And then it was over and Shasta finally rushed at his boot and danced back to the entrance. The sun was rising higher and the more he waited, the more public this farewell would be. He let go and shrugged, smirking his usual smirk.

"Who knows," he said wickedly, "I might just end up coming home one day."

And he left. For a minute they heard the click of boots on the cobblestones and then even that was swallowed up.

It was only the sky and the Labyrinth and the buzz of life around them. Four silent people waited for a few minutes, hoping the flamboyant figure would return from the Labyrinth and tell them it was all a joke. Hoping for some idea as to where he had gone.

No one ever found out.

Some said that in a quiet corner of the Labyrinth, a secret garden lay hidden, filled with the rich perfume of green plants and clear water. No other creature or animal lived in this garden. The frost of winter and the break of autumn never touched a single leaf. In the centre of this garden was a pavilion, and set in the cream marble of the pavilion floor was a tomb marker guarded by a brown wolf with blue eyes. The legend upon the slab stated only 'King Jareth'. And all who looked upon it knew who lay beneath and didn't dare disturb it.

Others talked of another kind of garden. Filled with animals and wild fruit trees. Instead of a pavilion they described a graceful building- not too small, not too large. Tended by skinny, human-shaped figures with over-large ears and silver and bronze streaks in dark hair. Two figures were glimpsed through a tangle of brush, one a silver-blond and the other as golden as the sun. They were said to lie entwined, always touching, always with the other. There was no mention of any wolf but the glimpses of this arcadia were only fleeting.

The best ending to the legend, was a record from the reign of King Aidan's successor that spoke of a Wished-away meeting a strange man in the Labyrinth. He was said to possess wild hair in uneven tails around his pale, bloodless face, blue eyes cynical over a twist of his lips that might be called a smirk. His clothing was of the old style of the Goblin Kingdom- a blue shirt with the top unlaced, loose sleeves that clasped tight at delicate wrists and black-gloved elegant hands; tight brown breeches showing off long, long legs and black boots with no hint of the mud that touched the Wished-away's clothing. The man was accompanied by a fully-grown brown wolf with curiously blue eyes, but the Wished-away got the feeling that there was another person close by. From certain glances over his shoulder, those cynical blue eyes seemed to be waiting for someone. The man disappeared soon after.

The legends were faithfully recorded and never corroborated. No skeletons were ever found in the Labyrinth. And the more rational amongst the people of the Underground say that the Goblin King was simply absorbed into the soil, and thus ended his legend as a part of the Labyrinth he so loved.


End file.
